


Goretober 2019

by bastardmice (itsahardyparty)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Amputation, Blood and Gore, Bugs & Insects, Burns, Cannibalism, Corporal Punishment, Cults, Ficlet Collection, Fire, Isolation, M/M, Mein Teil, Merpeople, Multi, Murder, Poison, Psychological Trauma, Sleep Deprivation, Stabbing, Teeth, Torture, frau schneider - Freeform, god im trying to remember everything, ich will, radiation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-01-13 16:55:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 23,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsahardyparty/pseuds/bastardmice
Summary: One-a-day mini fics for my own Goretober prompts. Featuring blood, guts, and lots of puppies.





	1. Day 1: Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Mein Tier](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13677225) by [Arrestzelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle). 

Frau hoped, desperately, that her new pup’s nose wouldn’t reset crooked.

The first few introductions to her “litter” had been good for Till. He and Flake had gotten along famously once it was clear that he wasn’t going to be a threat. The two balanced each other well. Oliver had come from a breeder. He was well-behaved and quiet, and his presence had never been a source of contention within the pack.

The shelter dogs had been a mistake. Frau Schneider did not regret adopting them in the slightest, of course—the variation in personalities was refreshing, after all. But they had become used to acting rowdy without any discipline to correct their damaging behaviors. They might prove harder to train than Till, whom she had to start from scratch with.

Tutting quietly, Frau Schneider cupped Richard’s cheeks and dabbed the blood away from his obviously broken nose and mouth, frowning when he flinched.

“It hurts, then, doesn’t it?”

The pup nodded piteously, but managed a small smile when the Frau scratched the top of his head affectionately. “Don’t you worry. This will get sorted out.”

Till had been acting out more and more lately, not always provoked, and not always out of jealousy. Schneider had pushed him when they had first begun to date, encouraged bar fights and such to see what he was capable of. It seemed as if she had accomplished her goal, in smoothing out what was perhaps Till’s only flaw: guilt.

After a half-assed beating with the riding crop (Till had cowered when she’d entered the room with it, which meant he was learning what constitutes “bad behavior” in the household), she’d taken out his lead.

“Who wants to go for a walk?”

Till perked up, but regarded her with slight suspicion. He was being punished, wasn’t he? Why would she be taking him out?

“Come,” she snapped impatiently, jangling the leash, and Till obediently trotted over and turned around, allowing her to attach it to his collar. “We are going to take you to let off some steam.”

After a wired ride in the car, with Till glancing out the window constantly, they found themselves in the seedier part of town, next to a dive bar.

Till peered over at Frau Schneider expectantly. This was _not_ her sort of place, she was much too classy!

Frau Schneider unclipped his lead and nodded toward the bar. “You are to get out of the car, choose one man in that building, and I will allow you to beat him to death in the alleyway.”

Till flew out of the car before Frau could say another word, an adoring smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She loved all her boys, of course, but Till would always have a special place in her heart.

It wasn’t long before Till had found his victim and dragged him out the back door of the bar, flinging him against the brick wall with a mercilessness that excited Schneider.

Till growled and grabbed the man by the hair, grinding his face into the cement, before beginning to smash his face into the ground. He paused and glanced up at Frau Schneider, who smiled softly at him through the car window.

Till beamed proudly, excited that she was pleased, and began to pick up his pace, testing the limits of the human skull.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._ **CRACK**.

Straightening up, Till pulled the man’s head up by the hair, examining his work. His entire face had become concave, blood gushing from his long-gone nose and lips. His forehead was nearly completely devoid of skin, his flesh peeling back in shredded, bloody ribbons.

Frau Schneider watched, transfixed, as Till studied the man he’d brutalized, and then gasped when he began to beat his skull against the brick wall. Every unsuccessful attempt had Till bashing the head against the wall harder, harder, harder, until finally, it broke like an egg, gray matter and blood splattering their surroundings. The muscles in Till’s shoulders and arms throbbed with effort, with passion, until he tired himself out. He sat back on his haunches, panting quietly, sweat-dampened hair hanging in front of his eyes.

Till got up and hurried back to the car when Frau Schneider rapped sharply on the window, blood spatter on his face and brain tissue in his hair, and a relaxed smile on his face.

“You let me worry about cleanup,” she murmured, glancing sidelong at him as he buckled himself in. “Now let’s get you in a bath.”


	2. Day 2: Entrails

“Well, you’ve certainly made a mess of things, haven’t you?” It was rare for Peter Tägtgren to show his face, as he preferred manning the technical aspects of their little operation in solitude, but this he’d had to see for himself.

“This wasn’t my intention,” Till offered, though it seemed glaringly obvious as soon as he’d said it. His head was _throbbing_.

Peter nursed a cigarette, large, sunken eyes assessing the multi-car wreckage. “Well,” he murmured, “I’m going to have to move some money around, aren’t I?” That was how this line of work went, after a while: terrible tragedies turned to terrible inconveniences for those in charge of cleanup. Glancing sidelong at Till, he raised his eyebrows. “What’s the damage?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He waved a hand, lighting a cigarette of his own. “The fee for the private ambulance alone—“

“No, not money. The boys.”

Till nods slowly. “They’re all right.”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really? All of them?”

“It was incredibly lucky.”

“So nobody got hurt?”

“Oh, I didn’t say that.”

Richard had been the one driving, and Till had every intention of giving him absolute hell once he was out of the hospital. The way the cars had collided, none of the boys had been terribly injured, but the car they’d collided with had been thrown off the road and wrapped around a tree.

“This can’t get out,” Peter murmured, staring up at Till with an owlish intensity.

“Stormare has been called,” Till responded, voice clipped and dark. “Should be here soon.” Richard was never getting behind the wheel of a car again if it could be helped. From now on, the driving would be left to Flake.

Till was only permitted to be lost in his thoughts for a few seconds before a large flatbed truck skidded suddenly up behind them, nearly giving the already wide-eyed Peter a heart attack.

“Loves to make an entrance, doesn’t he,” he muttered, pulling on his cig deeply.

Stormare threw the door of the truck open and grinned. “Heard you needed a pickup! Oh, fuck. Did that stupid twink finally get himself in a big wreck? I bet papa bear is maaaaaaaad.”

Till’s lip curled in the beginning of a contemptuous sneer, but he eventually relaxed into a smile. He couldn’t stay angry at Peter Stormare—not for very long, anyway. “Yes, I’m pissed off. Come get this car.”

Leaving the truck running, Stormare leapt out of the truck, trudged over to the wreck, and pried the door open. “Oh, no.”

“No what?”

“You’re gonna have to get this girl outta here.”

Till bristled indignantly, black Mohawk making him look like an angry parrot. “Girl?”

“There’s a girl in this car. She’s dead.”

Peter glanced at Till, whose jaw was now set with steadily boiling rage. He was going to murder Richard. Or else he was going to make him pay very dearly.

And if he didn’t, Schneider would.

Stormare grabbed the girl under the arms and dragged her out of the car, nearly gagging at the surprising sight—the metal from the driver’s side door of the old car had bent in, torn, and perforated her entire abdominal wall. And now her intestines were spilling out in pink, slippery ropes followed by trails of blood and human waste.

“I am going to _end him_,” Till snarled, gripping the head of his cane so hard his knuckles turned white.

Peter shook his head, already dialing Flake and Schneider. “I’ll get the disposal team while Stormare scraps the car. Don’t worry. This will get solved.”

Till’s jaw twitched. It certainly would.


	3. Day 3: Cannibalism

“What kind of meat is this?”

“It’s beef,” Frau Schneider responded, forking a delicately seared cube of meat into her mouth. “Don’t complain.”

“Oh, I wasn’t. I was just….curious,” Paul assured her quickly, still poking at the meat on his plate. He’d initially thought it was beef, because that was what it looked like. But it didn’t really _taste_ like beef.

“What’s the matter?” Till asked through a mouthful of food, glancing at Paul. “If you aren’t going to eat it, I will.”

“I’m going to eat it,” he insisted, especially firm after stealing a look at Frau Schneider, who appeared to be in a Mood. But Till still seemed to be the only one not completely wigged out by the mystery meat.

“What is the matter?” she snapped, and Richard hurriedly stuffed a cube in his mouth, fearing her wrath. It wasn’t _bad_, per se. It just wasn’t _beef_.

“Alright. Alright. I won’t lie to you,” she said, eyeing the five of them carefully. “I have been trying more of a…farm to table approach. Waste not, want not, as they say.”

“Oh,” Ollie murmured, peering up at her. “Where is the farm?”

“Well, there isn’t a farm,” she corrected herself. “It’s more…”

“This is the man I killed the other night,” Till interjected matter-of-factly, and, to everyone else’s horror, stuffed another morsel of meat into his mouth.

Frau’s perfectly painted lips parted in shock. “How did you…you _knew_?”

“Mhm.” Till nodded vigorously, hair shaking in affirmation. “When you said—“

Schneider snapped the riding crop at him. “Don’t speak with your mouth full,” she hissed.

Till nodded obediently, swallowing his food before continuing. “When you said you would “take care of cleanup”, I thought, you have to get rid of the body somehow. And this is a very good strategy.”

Frau regarded him suspiciously for a moment, before breaking out into a pleased smile and scratching his head. “Aren’t you quite the clever boy.”

“_Oh no_,” Ollie whispered, looking incredibly distraught.

Flake cleared his throat and lightly nudged his plate away. “I’m going to be a vegetarian from now on—“

Richard gagged, and Paul turned positively green with the knowledge that he’d just consumed human flesh. And he hadn’t even disliked it!

“Frau Schneider, I don’t feel good—“

“Enough!” she roared, snapping her crop against the table until all her pups were silent. Even Till had stopped chewing. “If you do not eat the food I have prepared for you, you will not eat. Is that understood?”

Slowly, they all nodded. “Yes, Frau.”

“Good.” She stared at them all disapprovingly, except for Till, who was trying to sneak another unsubtle bite. “We have a lot of work to do.”


	4. Day 4: Insects

“Oh fuck,” he whispered, pulling on his restraints and squirming with intense discomfort. “I can feel them _moving_!”

“He’s being dramatic.”

“I’m not sure he is,” Frau Schneider murmured, smirking a little and swatting at a fly when it buzzed happily past her. “They’re hatching.”

“LET ME OUT OF HERE!” their little captive screamed, pulling hard at his wrist restraints and kicking his one good leg. He didn’t know how long he’d been in here—in this cellar, where a very creepy man wearing a collar had gleefully restrained him, and then broken his ankle to make sure he wouldn’t be going anywhere any time soon.

And then, like a child with a new toy, he’d taken a newly sharpened knife and sliced a deep, long gash in the side of his left calf.

And that gash had become infested with maggots.

“Please,” he shook his head hard, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please get them out. Please, I’ll do whatever you want, _please_—“

“Whatever I want?” Frau hummed, lifting an eyebrow. “My, you know how to tempt a lady.”

Richard’s head snapped up, eyes wild and wide with desperation, black eyeliner running in lines down his face. “W-what?”

“I regret that it had to come to this, _Liebchen_.” Frau shook her head, as if she’d had no other option but to let Till loose to sate his rapidly worsening bloodlust. “This isn’t how I want this to end, you know.”

Richard could feel his heart beating frantically in his chest. His throat suddenly felt like sandpaper. “End?”

“Well, you have an open wound that is oozing, and it has become infected with flies.” Schneider raised her eyebrows, unable to hide how pleased she was when Richard began to squirm again. “By all accounts, it isn’t looking good.”

Richard stared up at her desperately, pulling at his restraints, and Frau Schneider found herself adoring those pretty green eyes of his. “You can fix this, can’t you? Please—“

“I can fix anything,” she assured him seriously, paying the flies no mind as she crouched to be at eye-level with him. “But I need something in return.”

Richard’s breath caught in his throat. So this was it—either die an agonizing death with flies living underneath his skin, or succumb to whatever this insane bitch wanted from him—and he was beginning to fear the implications of that.

He eyed the pus oozing out of his wound, and the maggots wiggling around just underneath. They’d be burrowed underneath his skin within the hour, like the sources of the other lumps up his leg.

“I would hurry with that decision,” she murmured, painted lips now fixed in a cold smirk. “Before the infection becomes terminal.”

“You can fix this? You’ll take me to a doctor?”

“I will take you to a doctor. A good doctor. All you need to do, little one, is…” She held up the collar—a strip of black leather that matched Till’s in thickness and design.

Richard swallowed. “I have to be yours.”

“Come now. Surely it can’t be worse than this?” Frau Schneider blinked innocently at him.

“Okay—Okay, I’ll do it,” he replied quickly, beginning to struggle against his wall-cuffs again. “Please, please just get them out of me, I can feel them—“

“Richard?”

Richard snapped out of his memory, absently scratching at the thick scar on his leg. “Hm?”

Paul peered into his eyes, frowning deeply with concern. “Are you okay? You seem…out of it.”

“Oh, no. I’m alright.” Richard blinked a few times, then finally relaxed. He even almost smiled.

Thank goodness for Frau Schneider.


	5. Day 5: Fire

The explosion had left their ears ringing.

Schneider peeled himself off the concrete, scowling even more deeply than usual, and looked around—the building they’d been ransacking had been wired up. A bomb.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pushing himself up so he could sit. His chest was aching, no doubt from the force with which he’d been thrown to the ground when the building had blown. “Sound off! Who’s alive?”

Some groans of affirmation alerted Schneider to Flake, who was surprisingly unscathed, and Paul, who was lying on the ground and holding his face.

“What happened?” he barked, bolting to his feet despite the protest from his muscles.

“He was caught in the blast,” Flake explained quietly, unable to do much for Paul but stroke his hair in a sad attempt at comfort. “He’s badly burned.”

“I’ll get the car. Where is—“

Schneider trailed off, taking a moment to survey his surroundings. It was honestly a miracle they were still alive. Flaming debris littered the ground, and chunks of cement had been thrown haphazardly along the street like children’s wooden blocks.

“Christoph!” a familiar voice yelled, and Schneider whipped around to see Olli staggering toward him. His suit was torn open and hanging off him in ribbons; the loose fabric had been singed by the flames.

“Where are the others?”

Olli blinked, hobbling faster. “Who?”

“Till and Richard. Have you seen them?”

“Oh. No.”

He scowled in response, then frowned. Could they still be inside?

“Pull the car around,” Olli instructed, nodding seriously. “I’ll go in and look for them.”

Schneider thought about arguing, but shook his head and ran off to get the car. Olli was in no position to conduct a search, and he was in no condition to drive. But that hadn’t stopped them before.

“Come on, what are you waiting for? Get him ready!” Schneider snapped at Flake, stalking toward the car, broken glass crunching under his boots.

Flake had known Schneider long enough to know that this wasn’t actually anger, and it certainly wasn’t directed at him—Paul was one of his best friends. This was worry, 100%, even if Christoph would never admit it.

Meanwhile, Olli, clutching his ribs, wandered into the smoking remains of the warehouse. “Till? Richard?”

Olli knew the emergency protocol—they all did. Till’s limp made him vulnerable in situations like this, and should he not survive, he knew who to call.

“Here!” Olli perked up, his eyes widening hopefully as Till click-clicked toward him in his leg brace, silhouetted by fire. Richard dutifully tailed him, spiked hair casting an almost elegant shadow.

“Are you alright?”

Till coughs into his fist, swatting Olli’s leg with his cane. “Don’t be stupid, of course I’m alright. Tell Schneider to pull the car around.”

“Uh, boss—“

“NOW!”

Richard cleared his throat. “Uh, Olli was just going to say that….you’re on fire.”

“What?” Till turned around, and sure enough, the back of his suit jacket had ignited from the flames. Olli, not skipping a moment, quickly leaned over and began to pat the fire out. “Oh. Thank you.” He nods a little. “Status?”

“Cuts and bruises. Landers is burned. Flake said it’s bad.”

Till nodded slowly, absorbing the new information. “Alright. We’ll get him back to HQ so he can be treated.” He turned to Olli suddenly, looking him up and down intently. “Are you alright?”

“Me? Oh, yes. As I said. Cuts and bruises.”

“Have Lorenz look at you too. That’s an order.”

Olli nodded obediently. “Yes sir.”

The three of them trudged through the debris as Flake helped Paul into the passenger seat of the SUV, nodding and pulling the door open for Till. Proudly, he refused help, and pulled himself into the seat behind Schneider. “Step on it.”


	6. Day 6: Bones

“Ahaha!” Stormare roared with laughter, slapping the wiry boy on the back. “I love this little freak!”

Till seemed less amused, scrutinizing Kenny Hickey over his glass of whiskey. “Who is he?”

“This is my boy!” Stormare bellowed, taking another generous swig of rum, and Oliver had the distinct thought that he ought to slow down.

“You have a son?”

“No! He’s not my son. He’s my boy in New York! He’s a crazy little bastard!”

Kenny grinned a little and sipped his beer, allowing Stormare to jostle him around happily.

“Where did you get that cut?” Paul asked diplomatically, referring to the one in the center of Kenny’s forehead, and Till glared at him.

“I headbutted the window out of a cop car.”

Till was surprised at how soft-spoken he was, and that this _child_ did, in fact, seem to be a “crazy little bastard.” But it still benefited Till to be aware of Stormare’s antics.

“Why is he here?”

Stormare pouted, wrapping a beefy arm around Kenny and pulling him against his chest. “Tilly, why are you always so focused on business?”

Till’s fist tightened around his tumbler, and Paul deftly lifted it out of his hand before he could shatter it. “Because I am not here to make _friends_.”

Kenny wriggled out from underneath Stormare’s arm and glanced around at Till and his gang. “I’m part of an operation…not unlike yours. Based in New York.” He raised his eyebrows and leaned in a little, lowering his voice. “Stormare brings me in sometimes to assist with _garbage disposal._”

Till sat back, almost breathing a sigh of relief. Finally, someone with a sense of subtlety. “And we can trust him?”

“I work closely with his organization as well.”

“You can trust us,” Kenny assured him quietly. “In fact, we’d be honored to be your allies.”

“And who is the head of your operation?”

“Steele.”

Till nodded pensively, folding his hands over his stomach. “I’ll consider it. Let’s see how well you do with this task first.”

After a few hours of drinking and merrymaking, the sun finally went down and shrouded the world in darkness. And that meant it was time to go.

Kenny discreetly pulled a duffel bag out from underneath his chair, slung it over his shoulder, bade everyone farewell, and jumped in Stormare’s pickup truck.

“What’s in there, anyway?”

“Nothing fancy. Supplies, mostly. Where’s the stuff?”

“Drum’s in the back. Stuff’s in the hole. Let’s go.”

The “hole” of course referred to Stormare’s sub-sub-basement, which was helpfully outfitted with 200-liter pressure cookers, drains in the floor, and padded floor-to-ceiling with concrete.

Kenny threw his duffel bag down and began to unpack it—bottles of lye, a bone saw, a five-foot dowel, elbow-length latex gloves, and a 3M carbon filtered respirator.

“You sure like to come prepared.”

“I sure do.” Kenny strapped the respirator on and began to glove up, glancing over at Stormare. “Where are the bodies?”

The garbage which Kenny would be helping Stormare dispose of were the casualties of a recent mission-gone-awry. Ten people had to be melted down and disposed of without leaving any biological trace behind.

“Will this get rid of the skeletons too?” Stormare asked, cocking his head.

“Acid does it better, but lye is much easier to get my hands on under the radar. We can always saw them down and incinerate them.”

Stormare nodded appreciatively. Little fucker seemed to really know what he was doing.

After 12 straight hours of work, stirring a lye and water mixture that had been pressure-heated to 300 F, the boys were done with their work, and Rammstein came to inspect.

Kenny’s hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and the ring his respirator had left around his nose and mouth was bright red and agitated.

“It’s all liquefied?”

“Strained twice,” Stormare boasted, grinning at the tired little New Yorker. It was amazing how little sleep he needed, but then again, perhaps that was why he was manic constantly.

“So what now?” Flake murmured. “We seal it up in steel drums? Bury them?”

Kenny shook his head. “The lye is dilute, and this is technically biodegradable waste, so it can be dumped into the ocean. I’d suggest the drains here, but. Distance.”

Schneider nodded approvingly, though he didn’t smile, and turned to Till. “I agree.”

“Me too.”

Kenny cocked his head while Stormare let out another bellowing laugh, slapping him on the back hard enough that he nearly knocked him down. “What?”

“That means we can trust you to do good work,” Paul explained, grinning a little. “So we may be calling New York.”

“Oh. Cool.” He grinned back, happy to have received the Rammstein seal of approval. “I won’t let you down.”

“You’d better not,” Till replied, and when the laughter died down, he continued. “Because if you do, I’ll kill you.”


	7. Day 7: Poison

_Why does Frau Schneider even have this stuff in the house?_ Oliver had asked himself, after he’d begun to feel very ill. He’d ventured into the medicine cabinet for an ibuprofen when he’d started to develop a headache, but since he couldn’t read well, he must have grabbed the wrong bottle.

That was one drawback of buying from breeders. The pups couldn’t be self-sufficient. Not that self-sufficiency was a goal when buying puppies, but things like this could be prevented.

Oliver had blacked out soon after, and when he woke up, he was on the floor, completely paralyzed, unable to get up or even wipe the saliva dribbling out of his mouth.

It took him a second to realize that all his muscles were locked. For someone in the middle of a seizure, he was oddly lucid.

“Oliver!” When he opened his eyes next, Frau Schneider was standing over him, appearing a bit fuzzy around the edges.

“Whuuuut?” He slurred quietly, eyes rolling a bit as she grabbed his face.

“That was his second seizure. Someone get me a pillow.”

There was some scurrying in the background, and then the floor under Olli’s head was soft as Frau gently rolled him on his side.

“Should we put a wallet in his mouth?”

“No, don’t touch his mouth. That’s a myth.”

“Oliver?” Frau leaned over him gently. “Did you take any medicine today?”

He nodded stiffly as his aching muscles finally begin to relax. “Took three.”

“Oh, fuck.”

Olli was surprised. He’d never heard Frau curse before.

“Fuck what?”

“He took PTZ. If the dose is too high it can cause…things like this to happen.”

“Why do you have that, then?”

“Don’t ask questions,” Frau snapped at Flake, gently stroking the top of Olli’s head. “We Just need to wait until the side effects wear off.” She peered down at him. “How would you like to sleep in my bed with me tonight?”

“Oh, what?”

As Olli listened to them all complain, all he could do was smile. Frau reserved the privilege of sleeping in her bed for when one of her pups was sick or inconsolably upset—otherwise, it was a reward for excellent behavior.

“Yes, you would. Of course you would.” Frau smiled affectionately at him, stroking the back of his head with her thumb. “You frightened me. I’m very glad you’re alright.” She lifted his head, pillow and all, into her lap so that she could continue petting him. “I think I will stay here with you until I am quite sure you’re alright.”

A few of the other pups stared enviously at the treatment Olli was getting, but Frau shooed them away. After all, he needed her attention, and that was what he would receive.


	8. Day 8: Teeth

“You have been an _exceptionally_ bad boy.”

Till shrunk away at the admonishment, and Frau Schneider scowled at him. He’d really upset her this time. A round of playfighting with Paul had gone sour after he’d taken a half-swing at Till’s neck, and animal instinct had unfortunately taken over. He’d bitten Paul hard enough on the shoulder to break the skin in multiple places, and Frau Schneider had even been worried about a cracked collarbone.

“What were you thinking? You weren’t. That’s what you were thinking.” Till could hear the disgust in her voice, and whined softly.

“We have spoken about biting, Till.” She was right in front of him suddenly, her pacing halted so that she could bend down and stare icily into his eyes. She was _so_ upset. Till’s stomach twisted into anxious knots at the thought of the punishment he’d earned—was she going to use the belt? Lock him in his kennel for the next week? Maybe she’d keep his basket muzzle on until he learned his lesson?

“You are going to come downstairs with me.”

_No, not the basement!_ The basement scared Till. It scared all of them. You didn’t go down to the basement unless you were _super_ bad, and that had only happened a few times.

Impatiently, Frau Schneider clipped a lead to the ring in his collar, pulling him down the stairs. He only resisted for a moment, but the look she gave him very clearly said that this was not a battle he wanted to pick.

“Sit in the chair.”

She wasn’t looking at him, which was almost worse than having her stare him down. Slowly, Till lifted himself into the medical exam chair, fidgeting as he settled back against the old leather. His eyes, wide and nervous, flicked over to watch Frau Schneider, who was unsettlingly still, her back to Till, preparing some things on a table. He could hear metal clattering around, but didn’t dare crane his neck to look.

“What we are going to do is make sure you can not do any more biting. At least, none of consequence.” Schneider turned on her heel, and the color drained from Till’s face when she saw the metal tray she was holding: complete with a large syringe, a dental gag, and a pair of gnarly looking pliers.

“Are you going to be a good boy in an effort to redeem yourself?” she asked, voice lilting with warning. “Or do I have to strap you in?”

Till swallowed thickly and nodded, head bowed in submission. He would be good. As long as it would make her stop being upset, he’d do anything.

“I have decided to give you the benefit of a local anesthetic,” she continued, holding up the large needle. “Now, open your mouth.”

Till eyed the needle and the pliers and very much did not want to open his mouth, but it wasn’t like him to disobey, and his jaw fell open, out of his control.

Frau Schneider deftly slid the dental gag between his teeth, and squeezed the clamp so that the thick wire pushed his jaw open. “Good. Now lift up your tongue.”

Till was shaking with anxiety and stress, and tears filled his eyes when she pushed the needle into his mouth, punctured the flesh under his tongue, and pushed the plunger.

She waited a few moments, then poked at Till’s lips and the area around his mouth. “Can you feel this?”

He could not, and Frau Schneider nodded clinically, grabbing the sterilized pliers and some wadded up cotton and gauze. “I will make this as quick as possible.”

She fitted the pliers around his left upper canine tooth, clamped down, and pulled swiftly.

Till clenched his fists and bit down on the dental gag, tears rolling down his face. His eyes were frozen wide, following Schneider’s hand as she dropped his bloody tooth into a metal tray. It didn’t hurt—he couldn’t feel anything, but he could hear the unnatural _ch-pop_ of the tooth leaving his skull and the mercilessness of her precision. And the fact that she felt it was necessary to _defang_ him.

“And now the other. It will be over soon.”

The taste of copper filled Till’s mouth and he sucked in a shaking breath, wincing as she swiftly yanked out his other upper canine. In one fluid motion, she pulled the dental gag out and stuffed two cotton bite-packs in the holes left by his teeth. “Bite down.”

Still shaking, fists still clenched, Till slowly shut his mouth, and then his eyes. A few more tears streaked down his cheeks.

Frau Schneider frowned, gently stroking his hair. Taking a piece of folded gauze, she wiped the saliva and blood from his mouth, lips twitching when he nestled against her, desperate for affection.

Till spent the better part of the evening with his head buried in her lap, the fabric of her skirt clenched in his fist. Bloody gauze was sticking out of his mouth, and his normally hulking silouhette was trembling like a leaf. He could feel his heartbeat in his jaw.

“See, you’re a good boy,” Frau whispered, stroking his hair. “And now we will make sure you act like one.”


	9. Day 9: Disease

Frau Schneider kept a spotlessly clean house. She had to. She had five large dogs that made very large messes. But that was not the source of her compulsions; that was the source of necessity.

Frau Schneider did not have obsessive-compulsive disorder in the traditional sense. Traditional OCD was marked by compulsive behaviors to ward off intrusive thoughts or fears: intrusive thoughts were often violent, explicit, or otherwise disturbing in nature—unwelcome. Some people who suffered from OCD feared that if they did not click the light switch x number of times, they would somehow become deranged and kill their family.

Frau Schneider willingly participated in her compulsions because she knew from experience that her violent thoughts would be acted on.

This was not the mistaken assurance of someone gripped with anxiety. This was the assurance of someone who could, and would, kill if she was not otherwise stimulated.

So, she took to her compulsions, ceaselessly sterilizing the food bowls and kennels, washing the sheets, even bathing her boys with an almost clinical efficiency. The puppies kept her incredibly busy, which was a blessing. But even the more oblivious members of the pack could sense when their presence would become a curse.

“Didn’t she clean the kennels yesterday?” Paul whispered to Olli, who simply nodded. The cleaning days were happening more and more frequently. Till, who knew her habits well, was nowhere to be found, and all the others were putting up a Herculean effort to make themselves scarce.

“So….what do we do?”

“Don’t get in her way,” Flake advised him sagely. He’d seen that go south enough times to know.

Frau Schneider cleaned and cleaned and cleaned and _cleaned_ until her hands were raw, the soap, scalding water, and alcohol having done her skin no favors. She cleaned until she simply couldn’t clean anymore, at which point, she sat down on the couch, seemingly defeated.

The house was oddly silent as the collective breath was held. This had never happened before, as far as any of them were aware.

“Till,” she finally called, her voice oddly soft. There were a few beats of silence, then Till came lumbering into the room woozily, cotton still stuffed into his cheeks and pleasantly numb from the painkillers.

He stared up at her, any disguise for his adoration gone. Laying his cheek in her lap and gently tugging at the edges of her skirt, he nestled right up against her, his recent punishment forgotten.

“I am going to go out for a little while,” she whispered, slowly running her fingers through his hair. Till stared up at her, looking completely betrayed, and Frau Schneider smiled. “I will be back very soon. Flake is going to be in charge today, and he will take such good care of you.”

Before she had to look too hard, Flake appeared dutifully from his hiding spot behind the sofa.

“Flake, Till is still a bit out of it. You will keep an eye on him.”

Flake nodded. “Yes, Frau Schneider.”

“Good. I will be back shortly.”

It wasn’t long before Till had forgotten what he was upset about, and became overjoyed that he had Flake’s undivided attention. Flake hoped he might be distracted by something colorful and quickly put on a movie, but that did not stop Till from lying on top of him and falling asleep almost immediately.

Ever true to her word, Frau Schneider was back shortly, and in a far improved mood. The boys dutifully gathered at the door when she returned home.

“Where did you go?” Olli murmured, catching a glimpse of what appeared to be a spot of blood on her pantyhose.

“Just to let off some steam.” She lifted an eyebrow down at him, and he heeled immediately. “All that energy needs a constructive vent.”


	10. Day 10: Radiation

One could argue that Frau Schneider ran her litter the way a warden ran a jail: the bare minimum requirement was that orders be followed, and misbehavior was not tolerated. But, occasionally, there were rewards for good behavior.

She had found that this method worked wonders, especially once the boys had gotten used to their home, and adored her too much to purposely disrespect her. Good behavior was never rewarded the same way twice: all of her pups had distinct interests and inclinations, and what kind of owner would she be if she did not take notice?

Till enjoyed sweets and had a particular weakness for gummy bears, which were easy enough to acquire on short notice; Richard paid his hair and hygiene quite a bit of attention and liked to get new hair gels or interesting soap; Oliver had a very deep interest in sports, and though he could not always play, Frau Schneider made sure to put the soccer game on TV when he’d been good; Paul liked to get new board games or movies; and Flake was an avid reader.

Frau Schneider had a number of bookshelves in her house: one in the living room and two in her bedroom, and surplus books strewn about here and there, which Flake was welcome to read and did so with fervor. Like Oliver, he was from a breeder. Unlike Oliver, he had taught himself how to read. Occasionally, as a reward for good behavior and secretly, in quiet appreciation for his intelligence, Frau Schneider bought him books that were just his: he did not have to return them to her.

One of these books was “Midnight in Chernobyl.” Flake had always enjoyed darker themes in his literature, but this, for some reason, threw him.

“Do you think the basement will be a suitable shelter in the event of a nuclear incident?” Flake whispered urgently to Till, who groaned and rolled over. “Is that a yes?”

“Put the light out.”

“I’m just asking.”

In the middle bedroom tonight were Paul, Till, and Flake. The two bedrooms that did not belong to Frau Schneider were more or less converted into large dens, with mattress-padded floors and strewn generously with blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals. The boys sometimes switched around, and sometimes they all squished together in the large bedroom at the end of the hall.

Till made a swipe for the flashlight, and Flake scowled at him. “Give me!”

“Do you even know what radiation poisoning can do to you?”

Till blinked. “….no.”

Flake opened the book, inviting Paul to huddle closer when he heard the disturbance. “It says here that the firefighters who got ARS—“

“What’s ARS?”

“Acute radiation syndrome—they were so sick that their skin turned black and peeled off, and their intestines melted inside their body and came out in bloody—“

“Stop!” Paul slapped his hands over his ears, glaring at Flake. “That’s disgusting!”

Paul’s horror finally compelled Flake to put the book and flashlight away, and the three of them curled together and finally went to sleep.

Paul sat at the kitchen table the next morning. He must have woken up in a thick haze, because he didn’t remember getting out of bed. The house was strangely still, no puppies fighting or playing, and Frau Schneider was nowhere to be found.

He wrinkled his nose and scratched his itching arm, finally getting up from the table to look around. The kitchen counter was cluttered with dishes—odd, seeing as how spotless everything was normally kept for the sake of Frau Schneider’s sanity.

Paul began to scratch roughly at his arm again, this time making a face when he felt something catch under his nails. Glancing down at his skin, he nearly gagged—the flesh all over his arms had turned dark and brittle and was sloughing off in sheets.

“Frau?” he called desperately, turning in circles before choosing an arbitrary direction in which to run. He took off at a jog, suddenly feeling incredibly nauseous. “FRAU? WHERE ARE YOU?”

Paul continued running, now in a panicked fervor, and began to bang on the closed basement door. “HELP!”

“Oh,_ Liebling_,” Frau Schneider’s gentle voice cooed from behind the door. “I can’t possibly open the door. The basement is a fallout shelter, and we can’t allow the radiation in.”

Paul’s mouth went dry instantly. The radiation? “Wait! WAIT!” He began to beat his fists against the door, even trying the knob more than a handful of times, but she was steadfast, and locked the door stayed.

He stopped knocking on the door momentarily to examine the feeling of something warm and wet on his arm, and paled when he realized it was blood. The knocking had caused the skin all over his hands to blister and split open, and blood was running down his arms in thick streams. His knees felt weak suddenly, and he collapsed, kneeling in front of the door and banging on it with what little strength he had. “Please….please don’t leave me out here…”

Paul could feel the rest of his body beginning to develop painful blisters and welts, but he hardly even cared anymore. Frau Schneider had abandoned him. So, slowly, he crawled back toward the kitchen and awaited his fate.

Till snarled when Paul, clearly having a panicked nightmare, kicked him for about the fifteenth time. “I knew that book was a bad idea.”

“It’s not my fault he has an overactive imagination,” Flake scowled back. “He’ll calm himself down eventually. For now, where’s his teddy bear?”

“I don’t fucking know,” he snapped, and, impatient for a solution, decided to wrap Paul in his arms himself, not unlike a boa constrictor.

Within a moment or two, the struggling had stopped, but now Till had a new problem: Paul had made a permanent pillow, at least for the night, of Till’s stomach.


	11. Day 11: Suffocation

The precision with which Frau Schneider commanded control over her pack was nothing short of remarkable. Her methods ensured that the boys knew how capable she was of inflicting pain, but also that she would always be the one to relieve it.

Those less empathetic to her ways may have cruelly referred to her methods as “inducing Stockholm syndrome” or other some such nonsense. But what she did was only to ensure loyalty.

After all, they only had each other.

Till had clawed and scratched at his throat until it was raw, but the duct tape held fast, securing the plastic bag over his head. Frau Schneider sat close by, in a folding chair, examining her nails and glancing sparingly in Till’s direction as he writhed and struggled.

Training pups from scratch was a tedious process. But even with bred pups, certain exercises were used to ensure obedience. Which is why Frau Schneider had pioneered the “bag test.” It truly was a remarkable feat of human conditioning. Were it any less ethically questionable, she would have already published a few scientific papers on her psychological breakthroughs.

Slowly, as oxygen ran low, Till stopped struggling, his breathing becoming slow and labored. His mouth open wide, the plastic bag pressed flush against his skin, he gasped in long, slow intervals. His lungs burned; his throat bled. He had no energy left even to struggle, and slowly, he began to give into the haze creeping in at the edge of his vision, and succumbed to unconsciousness.

_**POP**_.

With a rattling gasp, Till threw himself upright and panted, clawing at the plastic bag and finally tearing it open from the hole over his mouth. He could see spots dancing in front of his eyes, and felt incredibly light-headed.

“Oh, darling. Are you alright?”

Till looked up at Frau Schneider, who was standing over him now, and hugged her legs immediately, never wanting to let go. He nodded, cheek brushing against the fabric of her skirt.

Barely concealing a victorious smirk, Frau Schneider stroked his hair and knelt down beside him, peeling away a corner of the tape. “Come on. Let’s get this off you.”

After their sixth trial, finally, she had groundbreaking results. Till had gone from seeing her as his abuser to recognizing her as his savior. But little did he realize, further tests were to come.

She didn’t see the merit in continuing to nearly kill Till by suffocating him, but as she added more members to her pack, she worried that Till’s compassion would outweigh his loyalty. So, collared, his leash wrapped around Frau Schneider’s fist, he was forced to sit on the floor beside her chair and watch.

“Help me! Help me—_please_!”

To Frau Schneider’s absolute delight, Till had sat there and watched, expressionless, as Flake writhed on the ground, clawing at his own throat just as Till had. He seemed not to care about the fact that Flake was pleading with him to save his life.

“Frau Schneider will help you,” Till told him patiently, the softness of his voice barely audible over the crackling of the plastic bag that coincided with Flake’s desperate gasps.

“She CONDEMNED ME!”

“But she will save you. You have to see that.”

Frau Schneider stroked Till’s hair approvingly, and he rested his cheek against her leg. They watched, together, as Flake’s entire ribcage rattled with the effort that breathing required.

It wasn’t until Flake began to lose consciousness that Frau Schneider slowly rose from her seat, commanded Till to stay, and knelt down beside Flake with her Xacto knife to tear a hole in the bag.

His whole ribcage expanded with a gasp, though he didn’t sit up for a long time. Instead, his focus was on catching his breath, recovering from his brush with death, and….allowing Frau Schneider to stroke his hair?

Slowly, Flake finally sat up, and stole a glance at Till, who simply nodded. He had been sure that Frau Schneider would save him, and she did. Perhaps she put him in the bag, but didn’t relenting count for something here?

He stared up at Frau Schneider, and then over at Till, beginning to understand what his options were.

“Thank you,” he wheezed quietly, raising his eyebrows when Frau Schneider clipped a collar around his neck.

“Good boy. You learn fast,” she murmured, patting his head.

Both of her boys had been good today, now that she thought about it. Perhaps treats would be in order.


	12. Day 12: Wounding

The first thing Frau Schneider noticed upon coming back home was blood on her previously spotless kitchen floor. She’d had a sneaking suspicion even before confirming it, but it turned out that, as usual, she was correct.

_The shelter dogs._

When she strode into the back room, the resulting chaos made her pause in horrified bewilderment.

Till, a paring knife buried in his right shoulder blade, was snarling at Richard, and had Paul pinned to the floor by his throat with his left hand. Paul’s eyes bulged out of his head as he clawed at Till’s wrist in a desperate bid for freedom, but Till had leveraged too much of his weight against the smaller pup. Richard’s forehead was split open, and blood was gushing down his face, though it didn’t seem to bother him.

“What. Are. You. _Doing_.”

The contempt in Frau Schneider’s voice drew all their attention instantly, and Till jumped off of Paul, who scurried to the other side of the room. Richard and Till immediately did their best to look innocent, as if they weren’t just fighting to the death, and as if Till did not have a knife in his back.

But she was seething with fury already. It was evident that she did not need details here; and this was obviously more than self-defense on either of their parts. She was still slightly confused as to how Paul factored into this, but it didn’t matter.

Thrusting a finger at Richard, she growled “Did you stab him?”

“No, Frau Schneider.”

Her face contorted with rage at the denial, but Paul spoke up. “…I did.”

The fury melted, briefly, into surprise. “_You_ did?”

“Yes, Frau Schneider.”

It took a while, but she finally asked the right questions enough times to build a coherent story out of what had happened: Till had become territorial and was arguing with Richard, and attempting to physically intimidate him. Paul had tried to break it up, but Till shoved him away, which gave Richard just enough of an opening to punch him in the face. In retaliation, Till grabbed Richard by the hair and started to beat his head against the floor until there was blood everywhere, and that was when Paul ran to the kitchen for a knife and stabbed Till.

The rest was history, and now the three pups were huddled against the wall, staring at the floor. Their dispute forgotten, they now had one common problem: Frau Schneider was _pissed_.

She was so pissed, in fact, that she made sure to punish all the boys before even thinking about medical treatment. Sending Paul to retrieve the thick belt (as he was the only one that wouldn’t drip blood up the stairs), she forced muzzles on Till and Richard, then beat them both black and blue.

Till had remained upright on his hands and knees for a while, but after the welts across his back started to split open, he sank down and covered his head with his arms, just waiting for her to finish.

She finally did, and pulled his muzzle off. In the interim, she’d called her doctor to make a home visit, and silently pointed in his direction. Dejected, Till slunk off to get his knife removed.

Richard’s punishment followed in much the same manner: Frau Schneider beat him across his back, ass, and thighs until he was bruised and bleeding, and then silently sent him to get stitches in his forehead.

Finally, she looked down at Paul, who had secretly been hoping that he’d be able to escape without injury today. “You stabbed another pup.”

After nearly an hour of her furious silence, her disapproving words stung. “…yes.”

“You are going to get a different punishment,” she told him simply, turning on her heel. “Come.”

Paul followed her, more slowly than his usual eager self. That attack had been so uncharacteristic. What was the punishment for a _stabbing_?

To his horror, Paul found himself in a restraint chair, strapped in at the wrists and ankles because he could not be trusted to stay still, and he began to struggle desperately when Frau Schneider pulled out a razor blade, dug it into the tender flesh of his thigh, and sliced through.

Paul had to be silenced with a gag muzzle until Frau Schneider finished, and when she did, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. Paul’s thin little frame was wracked with tremors, blood oozing from his cuts and painting his skin crimson. What a pretty thing he was.

She dropped the blade in an alcohol bath to sterilize it, then released Paul’s restraints. “Go.”

He certainly did not have to be told twice.


	13. Day 13: Eyes

As the most recent member of the pack, Richard Kruspe had some distinct disadvantages. A shelter pup, like Paul, he tended to be less trusting and more anxious than the bred dogs, and he was also joining an already-formed pack, some members of which had gotten very close already.

What he’d gotten when he’d arrived were four distrustful stares, reserved for outsiders. Till had only just recently gotten used to Paul, and the prospect of yet _another_ pup in the pack didn’t exactly thrill him.

The boys had all crowded around the door to the garage, waiting with bated breath for the newest arrival. What kind of pup would Frau Schneider choose this time? Someone quiet and reserved like Flake and Olli? A more brutish type, like Till? Or would she go for another high-energy one, like Paul?

As she led Richard in to the house by his leash, it was apparent that he was none of the above. He stepped into the house slowly, glancing around at all the other boys—and seemed intimidated.

“Everyone, this is Richard,” Frau Schneider announced, patting his head lightly. “He is going to be staying here with us from now on.”

Till scowled at him. Why did Frau Schneider need _five_ of them? He would have sufficed. Maybe he and Flake. But that was it.

Paul trotted up to him, ever the cavalier, and leaned in to examine him, but whined and recoiled when Richard swiped at him harshly.

“You will have to give him space and allow him to adjust,” she explained. “There are quite a few of you.”

Paul pouted, tenderly rubbing his cheek. The new one was mean!

Olli narrowed his eyes, but silently turned his back to the new arrival rather than engaging him. Flake went over to comfort Paul and glared at Richard over his shoulder.

Great. He’d made an atrocious first impression.

After a full afternoon of being frozen out, it was time for bed. Frau Schneider patiently made sure they were all in their pajamas (all of them wore matching gray sweatpants and no shirts, which Richard now had a set of as well), and herded them into the big room at the end of the upstairs hallway. When Olli stubbornly tried to leave and get into the other room, Frau Schneider stopped him.

“I want you all to get used to each other,” she said, her stern tone leaving little room for argument. “So you are all going to sleep together.” She looked around at the rest of them. “Is that clear?”

There were some begrudging grumbles of agreement, and, satisfied, Frau Schneider turned off the lights, and shut the door.

Richard tried to remain in his own corner, pulling over one pillow and a thin quilt to attempt to get comfortable, and ventured a glance up at the others.

His stomach turned cold suddenly. They were all looking at him, and their eyes were visible in the low light, almost reflective, like a cat’s.

Human eyes did not have night shine.

Richard swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling very dry, and pressed himself back into that corner, breath quickening as two pairs of eyes began to advance on him.

“Stay away from me,” he snapped, grabbing fistfuls of his quilt and wringing it anxiously.

Steely gray, golden brown, blue, green—he wished desperately that he could remember which eyes belonged to who. All creeping toward him, they didn’t seem quite human—the slowly blinking, almost glowing eyes were all he could see, other than the indistinguishable black forms that followed them.

Slowly, all of them fanned out and surrounded him, and Richard dug his heels into the mattress and forced himself to press harder against the wall. A pair of large, down-turned, blue-green eyes came closer, closer, _closer_, until their faces were almost touching.

Richard felt hot breath on his face and winced, shrinking away when a broad nose nudged his jaw. And then a large hand shot out of the darkness and grabbed his face.

Till dragged Richard closer by the jaw, growling lowly in his throat. There was something inhuman about that, too. “You hit him,” he snarled.

“I—I’m sorry,” he choked out, eyes widening wildly as he looked around him, frantically trying to locate Paul. “It was—ack—a reflex!”

Till’s lip curled contemptuously, but his grip loosened as Paul came closer in order to examine Richard, sniffing at him and pawing at his chest. Richard lifted a hand and placed it on Paul’s head, smiling as the choppy hair tickled his fingers.

“You can let go of him,” Paul told Till, nudging Richard’s jaw with his nose. “He’s just scared.”

“I don’t care,” he snapped back, pigheaded as ever, although he did release Richard’s jaw.

“You’re going to be in our pack now. Which means you can’t make Frau Schneider upset,” Paul informed Richard.

“…oh. What happens if I do?”

“Bad things,” Flake’s voice interjected. Those ice blue eyes hadn’t left him once, nor had Olli’s cool grays. They were not nearly as easily impressed.

“Well, I like you,” Paul added, grinning in the darkness and nuzzling Richard gently. “Come on. I’ll show you my stuffed animals.”

Till rolled his eyes lightly. And he’d thought the breeder dogs would be the naive ones.


	14. Day 14: Broken Bones

Till was coming along as a good, obedient pet, and a decent guard dog. But some bad habits lingered, unfortunately, and one of them was walking upright. It wasn’t that he was not allowed to _ever_ do it, but Frau Schneider didn’t want it to become a pattern. He should have been on his hands and knees.

She could only administer disciplinary measures so many times before it became clear that Till was not going to learn his lesson that way. This instance called for…less conventional methods.

“Till, this is going to hurt,” she warned him quietly, testing the weight of the brick in her hand.

She had chosen a ball gag instead of a basket muzzle for this so that he would have something to bite down on, and bite down he did. He watched her, half-terrified, half-transfixed, as she knelt down beside him and held his foot steady by the ankle.

Frau Schneider was stronger than she looked, and the pain that shot up Till’s leg was nearly blinding. He let out a high-pitched whimper and bit down hard on the gag, hard enough to almost split the rubber. She lifted the brick again to smash his big toe, and his eyes nearly crossed. The only sensation he was even aware of was agony, and he quickly withdrew his ankle before a third blow could be landed. He didn’t want to risk mutilating his foot!

“I know, darling. But I had to get that one. It’s the weight-bearing toe.”

Till opened one eye and ventured a look down at his foot. His toes were already turning purple. All she needed for this was a good fracture, not necessarily a clean break, because the healing process would be longer. In six weeks’ time, he would be perfectly trained.

“And now the other one.”

The first few days left Till completely immobile. He couldn’t walk, and crawling was agonizing because of the way his feet curled. But after the swelling had gone down, and Till’s injuries had been treated with ice, elevation, and some Advil to stop the pain, Frau Schneider took him on practice walks around the house. The goal was two-fold: to get Till to stop relying on his feet, and to allow him to get acclimated to the house from that height.

This method also provided negative stimulation in association with an unwanted behavior. Truly, Frau Schneider had Pavlovian sensibilities.

“Sit.”

Wincing, Till sat back on his haunches, grinning when Frau Schneider patted his head. “Now come.”

Till shifted to his knees and began to crawl alongside her, every so often peering up at her to gauge whether or not she approved. To his delight, she was satisfied with his performance, and he was given a treat—a large piece of beef jerky. He ate it right out of her hand.

“You’re a good puppy,” she murmured, ruffling his hair gently as she stooped down to give him pets. “We just need to make sure you act like one.”

“Yes, Frau Schneider,” he murmured obediently, nuzzling into her hands when she cupped his cheeks. She looked so excited that he was being a good boy! And his feet barely even hurt anymore.

What had he even been upset about?

Oh, well. It didn’t really matter.


	15. Day 15: Possession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'll admit this one was a little out there.

_“The boy has been possessed by the devil! The demons in hell have seen him fit to use as a vessel, and what will we tell them?”_

“No!” the shouts from the crowd rang out. The people were excitable; he coaxed them to their feet with only his words, inflammatory though they were.

The boy that The Preacher pointed to from the pulpit was none other than young Paul Landers, a German boy in his mid 20’s, who looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else. Coming to these church services had never been a priority of his, at least not at first: nearly everyone in the Church had come from one social service or another that the Church had gotten its tendrils into.

He and his friends had gone for the English lessons at the library; others had been brought in from the rec center where they played basketball on Friday nights; others yet had been drawn in from their affiliation with the schools. The Church people had all been very nice, and had kindly invited them to services once their presence had become a staple.

Most hadn’t joined for the religious aspect, but here it was.

Christoph Schneider was not the only concerned face in the crowd, which he noticed as he looked around. Services had become nerve-wracking. Who would the devil take possession of next?

“You must be mistaken!” he shouted, standing up in his pew. “I have known Paul for ages, and his behavior has not changed. He could not possibly have the devil in him.”

From behind his dark glasses, The Preacher stared down at Schneider. “You seem mighty confident, son.”

It occurred to Schneider suddenly that the Church congregation had fallen almost deathly silent. But he pressed. For Paul. “I am confident, sir.”

“You’ve seen the devil then, son?”

“…no, sir.”

“You’ve been down to the gates of hell the way I have, boy?”

“No, sir.”

“And yet you profess to know more about the devil and his works than I do?”

Schneider felt his face get hot with shame. “…no, sir. I suppose not.”

“The Bible tells us, in the Book of Revelation, that Satan is the great deceiver! The lengths he will go to to convince you of his trickery are vast! His behavior has not changed because the devil has made sure to conceal himself, but I tell you, _I have seen the devil in him!”_

The response from the crowd was thunderous, nearly shaking the foundation of the building. Schneider sat down, humiliated and even more worried than when Paul had first been called out. Devil possessions meant exorcisms, and those who lived through them were never quite right afterward.

Taking up his black Bible and pressing it to his heart, the Preacher solemnly looked out at his faithful congregation. “We need to banish the Devil from this place. He has no home here!”

More uproarious applause. Schneider, unfocused on the noise, peered over at Paul, who looked completely petrified.

_“Who will help me rid our house of the devil?!”_

The Preacher sat back for a moment, gazing, satisfied, at the scores of people raising their hands and shouting to be noticed, volunteers ready and willing to torture another person.

From his adoring masses, The Preacher picked those whom he knew were not yet convinced—some of the rough-and-tumble skeptics who were not as trusting. But Schneider was not among them. “You’re too biased,” The Preacher had told him. “Maybe next time, son.”

Though he did not allow him to participate, nobody could keep Schneider from waiting it out in the hallway. It wasn’t a negligible wait by any means—exorcisms, phony or not, took time. Through the brick walls, Schneider could hear Paul screaming. They had restrained him so that whatever was supposedly possessing him would be unable to use his vessel to escape.

Almost three hours later, the screaming had finally died down, and a new fear gripped Schneider: was Paul still _alive_?

Heart in his throat and tears in his eyes, Schneider patiently waited for The Preacher to administer his final protective blessings. Once that door opened, he would know if he still had a friend.

The door opened abruptly, and The Preacher strode out of the room, flanked by his followers. None of them gave Schneider a second glance.

But one hung back—a New York transplant who’d come in a pack of five, Kenny Hickey had begun going to Church services out of pure obligation, and still remained skeptical of things like “faith healings.” That was undoubtedly a factor in his selection—he had to see to believe, as did the other Brooklynites.

Though they’d clashed at first, Schneider had grown rather fond of the little group—especially Josh Silver, one of the only other Jewish people who’d somehow gotten mixed up in all this.

But right now, they were not friends. Schneider would murder Kenny in a second if it meant retribution—if that little rodent had allowed Paul to die and done nothing to stop it, he deserved to be fast-tracked straight to hell.

“He’s okay,” Kenny said quietly, leaning against the door jamb. “He’s alive. I tried to get him to ease up when I could, but y’know.” He waved a hand. “He does whatever he wants.”

“Can I see him?” Schneider asked, climbing to his feet. “Please?”

Kenny twirled the keys in his hand and considered his options, before finally shrugging. “I don’t see how that could hurt. What He doesn’t know won’t kill anyone, right?”

“Right.” Before Kenny could say anything else, Schneider hurried into the room and placed his hand on Paul’s forehead, slowly smoothing his hair back. He didn’t seem conscious, but he was clearly breathing.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, doing as well as he could to be a source of comfort. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

Paul’s eyes slowly cracked open, and he peered up at Schneider hazily. “What?”

“Hey.” Schneider smiled a little, and Paul smiled back, drawing relieved giggles out of both of them. “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” He nodded slowly, wincing a little. “I’m glad to see you.”

Schneider pressed a kiss to his head and nods again, shutting his eyes. “Yeah. I’m glad to see you too.”

More than he’d ever know.


	16. Day 16: Obsession

“Obsessed” was such a strong word. Frau Schneider liked to think she was invested an appropriate amount. Puppies were a big responsibility, especially for a beginner. That, of course, warranted lots and lots of research.

How to train a pup. How to balance discipline and affection. What they should eat, how they should be handled, how big their kennels ought to be, the right type of muzzles to use, how much exercise they require, building a social pack, and so on and so forth.

This was, however, unlike rearing normal dogs. Information was relatively limited, but this was a concept that fascinated Schneider greatly—how to make a human not quite human anymore?

She didn’t mind aversion therapy or physical discipline—or even some methods that could be considered “psychological torture.” This was where most people stopped. The few that were drawn to this sort of lifestyle were interested for the power it afforded them. Complete and total control over another person.

Her forebears had been able to efficiently pathologize the stages in this process, during which the human psyche is broken down and made malleable, then reshaped like modeling clay to fit the master’s desires.

Though, perhaps dark intentions aside, it was nice to have a faithful pet to greet her at the door when she returned home from work.

He really was a lovely specimen: the other women on their “pet” forum had been correct. Till was attractive when the two had begun dating, of course. He’d always been attractive. But there was something about the way he stared up at her with those ocean-green eyes from the floor—he looked at her like she’d hung the stars.

“Who’s my good boy?” she cooed, smiling a little when Till nudged her enthusiastically with his forehead, nearly knocking her backwards. Frau Schneider scratched under his chin and ruffled his hair, then gasped when he actually _did_ plow her over.

“Till—Till! Take it easy—down!” she snapped, and Till retreated instantly, head hung.

A frown tugged at her painted lips, and she held a hand out. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Slowly, Till crept forward, allowing Frau Schneider to stroke his hair.

For as much work and research as Frau Schneider had put into Till, she still was not obsessed. True, he now consumed a large portion of her daily life, but she was still able to have a career and even hobbies.

Many troubles accompanied wiping the human mind clean. It could be a touchy process; it was easy to go a touch too far or not far enough—this was a high risk procedure.

Another was imprinting.

In the process of wiping his mind clean like a blackboard, Frau Schneider had become the only chalk that marked it. Not unlike the owner of an actual canine, she had become Till’s entire life. He felt elated when she was pleased with him and devastated when she was upset: everything was felt, and everything was felt with incredible intensity.

When Frau Schneider went to work, Till missed her as if she’d been gone for years and longed for her to come home; when she finally returned it was like seeing a long-lost lover. Ever the quiet one, he trailed along behind her on his hands and knees as she moved through the house, toeing off her heels and putting away her things, then preparing dinner for the two of them.

Sometimes, Till ate what she ate. Often, she made him extra meat. Always, the bowl was clean, and Till was happy.

Though he would never be lapdog-sized, he climbed on to the couch with her and curled up beside her while she watched 48-Hour Mystery or the news. Then, Frau Schneider got Till ready for bed—a bath or a shower (he liked showers because he liked the rain, but she did not like to get her sleeves wet, so generally it was a bath), pajamas, brushed teeth, bed.

Frau Schneider would walk Till to the large bedroom at the end of the hall and make sure he was comfortable, before retiring to her own room. Most nights, he would get out of bed and whine at her door, hoping she might let him sleep in the bed with her—she hardly ever did.

Morning brought breakfast—Frau Schneider made Till a large bowl of scrambled eggs with cheese and sausage, and usually tried to leave while he was distracted with the food. But it didn’t matter—every time he turned around and found her gone, Till feared the worst: that she was never coming back.

And just as he began to give up all hope, and reconcile the fact that he’d be alone here forever, Frau Schneider would always return. The routine repeated over and over, and yet Till still wasn’t able to adjust to the fact that Schneider always came back.

This level of fixation and mourning wasn’t good, she realized, though Till did exhibit his absolute devotion perfectly.

That night, she began to research breeders.


	17. Day 17: Isolation

The transition hadn’t been smooth, exactly. Till did not like to share Frau Schneider’s affection, even though Flake didn’t want very much of it. But this was for his own good—it would be beneficial for him to socialize, and then perhaps he’d have something to occupy him that didn’t involve waiting for her to come home.

Till still had impulses, though. He was violent; he was protective of Frau Schneider. He could be competitive. He could _definitely_ be grumpy.

“Till, be nice,” Frau Schneider cooed, stroking his hair. “I’m going to go to work, and I want you to try and make friends.”

She didn’t know how to integrate a pack yet. Nobody could blame her for trying.

When Frau Schneider returned from work—earlier than usual, but still hours later—Flake was nowhere to be found. Till waited faithfully by the door as always, but the house was quiet. The new puppy wasn’t exploring?

“Hello, baby boy,” she murmured, still glancing around distractedly. “Where’s Flake?”

“He’s busy.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know.”

Till trailed her faithfully as she moved through the house, toward the kitchen. That meant dinner! But Frau Schneider was steadily becoming uneasy. It was so much stiller than she had expected. Truly, it was odd, even by her standards.

“Is Flake feeling alright?” She lifted an eyebrow, then narrowed her eyes when Till paused. She had taught him, and taught him well, not to be dishonest. There should not have been any hesitation. “Till, what did you do?”

His smile dropped slowly, and he looked down. She was upset. He just wanted to have her to himself, that was all! “…he’s in the back room.”

Frau Schneider squinted at him and went to investigate. As if sensing the impending fallout, Till pressed himself against the kitchen wall and tried to make himself small.

“**_TILL!_**”

He flinched. She was _mad_.

And she had a good reason to be: Flake was, indeed, in the back room, but he’d been absolutely brutalized. There were bloody bite marks all over his throat and shoulders, and even some on his wrists. His hair was sticking up in the back as if it had been used to drag him across the floor, and he had swelling under one eye that was threatening to blacken. After the beating Till had undoubtedly dealt him, he seemed to just want to avoid his aggressor and lick his wounds.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she murmured, cupping Flake’s face and gently stroking her thumbs over his cheeks. “I had no idea that would happen. But don’t worry. He will never do it again.”

In the back of Frau Schneider’s basement, there was a small, thick-walled room that was covered floor-to-ceiling in soundproof foam. She didn’t use it very often, but she liked the freedom of having things just in case the need for them should ever arise.

Till shrunk away when Frau Schneider clipped his leash to the ring in his collar, stomach turning with dread. He got the distinct feeling they weren’t going for a walk.

She opened the basement door, leading him down the stairs. Till had never been to the basement before, and he looked around curiously when she flicked the light on, enraptured by his new surroundings. There was an old chair, a table, some dishes, a shelf—

“We are going to the black room,” she told him simply, leading him past all of it. “You will stay there until you have learned to be good.”

Till stared up at Frau Schneider as she unclipped his lead and led him into the room. He didn’t get it, he just had to sit here? Like a time out? That shouldn’t be that bad.

He sat obediently in the center of the floor as Frau Schneider shut the door and padlocked it, returning up the stairs.

The first few hours were tough. The room really was black; the egg crate foam was dark and the room didn’t let even a sliver of light in, so he was in almost complete darkness. He missed Frau Schneider, and his bedtime routine, but it would be over soon.

Till slept for a very long time, and when he woke up, it was still pitch black. Was it still night time, or was it day? He tried to push on the door, but it didn’t budge, even as he put his shoulder into it. “Frau Schneider?” Till blinked. His voice didn’t travel the way it did in a normal room—in fact, it didn’t seem to get very far out of his mouth at all.

“FRAU SCHNEIDER?” he shouted, growing ever more anxious. Where was she? Did she know she wouldn’t be able to hear him? How long was she going to leave him in here?

Till being out of the way for the moment have Frau Schneider the opportunity to dote on her newest charge, cleaning his wounds and taking care of him. Though the intention had been to begin his training right away, Schneider had determined that Flake was deserving of a break, and decided to spend her time getting to know more about him. She cooked him food he liked and brushed his hair, giving all of her attention to him. He was sweet—withdrawn, yes, and shy, but ultimately very sweet.

The time flew, and at the end of the third day, Frau Schneider finally decided it was time to allow Till out of the black room.

She’d kept the basement lights off so that the sudden brightness wouldn’t blind him, and slowly took the padlock off the door, then cracked it open a few inches. “Till? Come here.”

There was a long pause, and then finally, one blue-green eye squinted out from behind the door. The room was not as she had left it—chunks of foam had been torn off the walls in an attempt to undo the soundproofing. Scratching at the cement had left Till’s fingers raw and bloody, and there was a cut in the center of his forehead from where a headbutt had been attempted. The blood had dried on his chest, over one eye, and it had even matted his hair, but he didn’t seem to be bothered. He’d also scratched at his own throat—the distortion of his voice had led him to believe something was wrong.

“Are you ready to behave now?” Frau Schneider asked sternly, unwavered by the pathetic display before her.

Till nodded slowly, gripping the edge of the door.

“You will apologize to Flake.”

Another nod. He ventured a cautionary glance up at her, attempting to read her mood.

“Very well. Come.”

Flake stood back as Frau Schneider walked Till up the basement steps, raising his eyebrows. He looked like shit, so they were probably even now.

“I’m sorry,” Till almost whispered, eyes fixed on the ground. The light hurt.

“It’s fine,” Flake replied simply, and in a gesture of affection that surprised Frau Schneider, he leaned in and touched his forehead to Till’s temple. Till stared up at him for a moment, and they each shared a small smile with the other, however briefly.

“You should get cleaned up.”

“I guess.”

“You look like death. Not that you don’t deserve it.” Till looked up again, and Flake was smiling. How weird. “Come on. I’ll help.”


	18. Day 18: Chains

“When I tell you to stay, I expect you to _stay_.”

Frau Schneider rolled her eyes when she heard metal rattling. She didn’t have to turn around to know it was Paul fidgeting. “I said _stay!_”

She whipped around and snapped the riding crop at Paul, who shrunk away and scurried back against the wall.

It was a beautiful sight, really, if they’d only behave. Her five boys, all in a line, chained to the wall at the neck. And through a large loop in each metal collar was a chain, through which handcuffs were fed. The chains on the handcuffs were just long enough to keep their hands in the “puppy” position, but far too short to let their hands touch the ground.

“It’s hard to sit still,” Paul complained quietly, curling his knees up and cowering when she swatted at him.

“Stop whining, or I’ll muzzle you,” she warned, narrowing her eyes. “This is exactly why this is necessary.”

Till had already been put in a basket muzzle, because he’d tried to bite Ollie purely out of boredom, but he didn’t talk too much. Frau Schneider would not hesitate to gag Paul, the way she had done with Flake.

“Sit back—Oliver!” she started to whack him with the riding crop until he sat back on his heels instead of lying on the floor. This was infuriating. None of them could follow simple instructions!

They all straightened up a little and sat back on their haunches, hands drawn up in puppy position, eyes on her. And it was so beautiful.

That is, until the thirty seconds of silence was broken by Till’s stomach growling.

Frau Schneider took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling, completely exasperated. “What. Was. _That_.”

Till ducked his head, then looked up at her shyly. “It’s lunchtime.”

Till’s stomach was more accurate than any alarm clock. He ate double the amount some of the other pups did, and the way he packed away food was actually impressive. But that meant, of course, that he was almost always hungry, and that meant constant interruptions.

“Alright. Alright.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, gesturing with the riding crop. “Who’s hungry. Show of hands.”

“Me!” Richard volunteered, yelping when she swatted him and hissed “_silently!_”

Five chains rattled as five hands went up, and Frau Schneider rolled her eyes. “Alright, I’ll get your bowls.”

“What are we having?” Paul asked hopefully, finally sitting at attention.

“You are going to have the man that is still in my freezer because you are all picky!”

Thirty minutes later, five bowls were set out in front of five boys. And yet, they were not eating.

“Is there a problem?”

“We can’t reach,” Paul murmured, pulling at his cuffs.

“Oh, no.” She folded her arms and raised her eyebrows. “You will eat out of the bowl. No hands. Like _good_ boys.”

They all stared up at her, and she could see the gears turning in their dopey little heads. They did not want to degrade themselves, but they also wanted to be good boys.

Frau Schneider passed along behind them, stepping cleanly over the chains and unfastening Flake’s and Till’s muzzles. “There.”

Till didn’t have to do much option-weighing, and immediately bowed his head and started eating out of the bowl.

Richard and Flake peered over at him and wrinkled their noses. Maybe _he_ didn’t have any reservations about sticking his face in his food, but that was revolting to them.

Frau Schneider bent down and tapped Richard’s chin with her riding crop. “I thought you were hungry. Did you lie to me?”

“No,” he answered quickly, looking away. “I’m just—“

She tutted at him, smirking a little. “You don’t want to get food all over that pretty face, hm?”

“Yes,” he agreed, relieved that she understood. “Thank y—“

“That’s too bad.” She patted his cheek. “If you don’t eat like this, you do not eat. Do you know what happens to bad dogs that won’t eat?”

Richard swallowed thickly.

“Well, _I_ have never had one. But I’ve heard that they don’t live very long.” She stroked his jaw with a nail gently, watching him closely until he bowed his head and resigned himself to his lunch.

That was all the convincing most of them needed, and even Flake began to eat out of his bowl after a while.

“Aren’t you all good boys,” she cooed, scratching Paul behind one ear and smiling when he eagerly leaned in to her touch.

Till belched loudly once he finished licking his bowl clean, murmuring a bashful “excuse me” when Flake turned to look at him.

Once everyone was done—and Frau Schneider had _made sure_ all their bowls were empty—she went down the line with a wet rag and cleaned them all up. She’d made a gravy to go with the meat and vegetables, and to her amusement, it had run down a number of their chins.

“Aren’t we messy,” she murmured, holding Paul’s head still with one hand as she wiped off his mouth. He kept trying to bite at the rag, and she grinned. “Stop that.”

Ollie and Flake were still and well-behaved, as usual, and Till kept tossing his head and trying to get away. He didn’t like when his face was cleaned, and immediately started rubbing the moisture off with his arms.

Frau Schneider intentionally saved Richard for last, savoring the miserable look on his face when she grabbed his chin and gently cleaned him up. It was good to get rid of that pride as soon as possible. She would not have a pup that was “too good” to eat with the others.


	19. Day 19: Human Experimentation

Aggression had been an issue in Frau Schneider’s pack since its inception. Unable to resolve it herself, and with the boys showing no signs of letting up on one another, she did the only thing she could think of: she turned to public fetish forums.

_The_Frau: I have a pack of 5 and some of my pups are still very aggressive, even months after integration. They don’t seem to be improving. Any suggestions?_

_baby_kitten_666: wow! Such a big pack! I’m one of three and my dom still has his hands full. :3_

_The_Frau: Is that why you’re allowed computer privileges? Serious advice only, please._

_domina_Trixie: have you tried electroshock therapy, or medical intervention?_

Now, that was an interesting idea. Frau Schneider was getting sick of constantly disciplining the boys. She was interested now in taking preventative measures. Till, Richard, and Paul seemed to constantly butt heads, and even Flake and Ollie were sometimes dragged into the squabbles. If somebody hurt Flake, Till would be out for blood, and Richard and Paul would defend one another to the death despite their arguing. She’d known from the start that there might be a clash of personality, but it should have been resolved by now.

_The_Frau: DM me, please._

After brainstorming for a few hours, Frau Schneider determined that she simply did not have the supplies or room to accommodate an electroshock therapy setup, and gaining access to enough control substances for five grown men might prove difficult. So, she would work with what she had—some medical equipment, anesthetics, restraints. But there would be some testing in order—she would have to see what would be appropriate for each of them.

“Paul, I need you to sit still—“ Frau Schneider hissed, smacking him across the face and grabbing his jaw. “Stay. Still.”

Paul whined a little, but forced himself to stay still so she could strap him down. He glanced over at the cots in the corner, where Till and Richard were lying. Flake was examining them—Frau Schneider was allowing him to assist with this procedure due to his medical interest.

Till’s eyes were rolling in his head while Flake took his pulse. The tranquilizer had been a little more potent than anticipated, but he still seemed relatively stable.

Richard, on the adjacent cot, was staring at the wall, mouth open, eyes unfocused. He’d gotten a dose of electricity that had been a little strong. Clearly, this was touchy work.

“What happened to them?” Paul murmured, fidgeting as Frau Schneider collared his neck to the hair.

“Nothing, my dear,” she replied, sticking a bit in his mouth. “Bite down.”

He did, watching closely as Frau Schneider attached electrodes to his temples, chest, and arm.

She stepped away and pressed a button on her little control box, then twisted the knob. The wires crackled to life and Paul tensed up, shoulders tensing, eyes wide and horrified as his muscles locked.

“NNNNN—_MMMMFFF_!”

Frau Schneider watched him closely, waited a few more seconds, then switched the box off. Paul was shaking, seizing, eyes rolled back. She cupped his chin and undid the strap around his throat, stroking his cheek gently as he continued to shudder.

“Good boy,” she cooed, grinning when Flake wandered over to observe. Hopefully, when the three of them recovered, they would be calmer.

Eventually, Paul slumped in the chair, eyes hooded and tired. Frau Schneider gently pulled the bit out of his mouth, gently wiping the drool off his chin with a gauze pad. Flake reached over to check his pulse and nodded when he found it was steady.

“He’s all right. Shall we lie him down?”

Richard groaned and shifted on his cot, and Till snored loudly. Frau Schneider nodded and took him under the arms, pulling him to his feet gently. Paul immediately clung on to her sweater and leaned against her, head buried against her chest. She paused for a moment, smiling to herself, and stroked his hair lightly as he nuzzled against her.

“It’s alright,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Come on. You can do it, just a few steps.”

“Mhm,” he mumbled, wincing a little as he took a step. Frau Schneider led Paul over to the cots and helped him up on to one, stroking his arms as he clung to her. “Little One,” she cooed, peering down at him. “You have to let go now.”

“No,” he whined, pressing his face into her stomach. “No.”

“_Liebchen_,” Frau Schneider chided him gently. “I have to tidy up.”

“No. No tidying. Stay.”

She glanced over at the supplies to be cleaned longingly, but relented, stroking Paul’s hair as she sat down on the cot beside him, allowing him to rest his head in her lap. “Oh, alright. I can stay for a few minutes.”

One of the boys shifted on a cot behind her, and suddenly Richard had his head on her shoulder. And then Till was lying on top of Paul, cheek nestled between his shoulder blades, a hand resting on her thigh. Finally, Flake perched on the edge of the bed, scooting as close as he could get to them without burying himself in a tangle of puppies.

“Do you see how nice it is when we all get along?” Frau Schneider murmured, stroking Paul’s hair with one hand and Till’s with the other.

“Yes, Frau Schneider,” they all mumbled, with varying degrees of clarity.

“Good, Boys.”


	20. Day 20: Stitches

“I can’t call the doctor for every little scratch or scrape you get yourself into,” Frau Schneider mutters to herself, pressing a hand into Richard’s upper back as she stitches a gash in his back closed. “Aren’t you glad I learned how to do this?”

“Yes, Frau Schneider—ah,” Richard winces.

“What have I told you about starting fights?”

“Not to—but I didn’t start this one!”

Flake didn’t care about what the other pups did with their lives, and honestly couldn’t be bothered to try. But Olli was what Paul referred to as “silent but deadly”—he wouldn’t get involved, and was ever the quiet one, but would happily orchestrate fights for his own entertainment.

This was the third set of stitches Frau Schneider had had to administer so far, and she was becoming impatient.

“Why did you have to muzzle me?” a small voice complained from behind her.

“Because you were chewing on your stitches, and I will not have them getting infected.” Frau Schneider bit the string and tied the knot, before taping a gauze pad over the stitches. “At least you can’t reach yours.”

Till, in his kennel, pressed the wire muzzle against his arm in an attempt to gnaw at his stitches, recoiling when Frau Schneider turned to glare at him. She’d had to redo his _twice_ now because he kept biting them.

“Till, if you pull those stitches out again you will pay dearly—Paul, stop whining! If the three of you are going to get into fights, you could at least have the decency to accept the marks you come away with.”

“They itch,” Till complained softly, and Frau Schneider hissed at him and held up the needle threateningly.

“Do you think I won’t sew your mouth shut?” she cocked her head, holding up the glinting needle dangerously. “Because I must tell you, the temptation is becoming unbearable.”

Till’s eyes widened and he backed himself against the wall of the kennel, staring up at her.

“And you,” she turned to Paul and crouched down in front of his kennel. “You complain an awful lot. I wonder if we wouldn’t all benefit from a little quiet.”

Paul swallowed thickly, shrinking away from her.

“You know, some people cut their pups’ tongues out, or punish them for speaking at all. Perhaps I’ve been too lenient, hm?”

Richard tried to get up and slip away, but the creaking of the chair gave him away. “Don’t think you’re off the hook either! In fact, I believe this exercise could benefit all of us.”

A few hours later, the procedures were done. It was probably safe to say that the boys had learned their lessons, but Frau Schneider wanted to be sure to drive the point home.

“Stop fussing,” she chided Oliver, who was trying to loosen the knot in his sutures. “I will cut them out once I’m sure you have learned.”

It was amusing to watch them all clamor to be on their best behavior. This was the quietest her home had been in weeks—no fighting, no arguing, no running around—just her boys, their mouths sewn shut with medical thread, sitting at the foot of the couch beneath her. Occasionally, she patted one of them on the head, and then the rest sat at attention, hoping to be the next rewarded.

“I’ll take them out soon,” she assured them all quietly, scratching the back of Flake’s head. “But for now, I am enjoying myself.”

Paul ventured to rest his cheek against her knee, and the rest of them huddled in closer. None of them had even made an attempt to jump on the couch. This was something Frau Schneider would be able to get used to.

But, after a while, the quiet began to unsettle her, and she relented and began to cut the stitches out with her suture scissors.

“Alright. I suppose that’s enough of that, hm?” Frau Schneider glanced around at all of them. They were still quiet. “What’s wrong?”

“We want to be good,” Richard offered, looking over at the others, who nodded in agreement. “We upset you earlier.”

“We’re sorry,” Paul added, and Till nodded animatedly behind him, though he was preoccupied with pulling the thread out of his lips himself.

“And I started the fight,” Olli admitted. “I didn’t think it would end like that. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Flake huffed. “But. I’m sorry too. On their behalf.”

“Oh.” Frau Schneider raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t expected that. “Oh, that’s alright. It’s over, you’ve taken your punishment…you’ve learned, yes?”

“Yes, Frau Schneider.” They all nodded in affirmation.

A smile played at her painted lips. “What good boys you are.” She patted the couch cushion beside her. “Come, you may come up—_one at a time!!”_

They all jumped up at once, clamoring for the opportunity to be next to her. Instead, they mostly wound up in a pile, all overlapping and hanging over one another, all draped over her lap.

Well, she supposed they were still pretty good.


	21. Day 21: Animal Attacks

One, two, three, four, five boys came out of the truck, stood up on their bare feet, and dutifully followed Frau Schneider into the building. Once she showed her ID and stepped into the large meetup area, one, two, three, four, five boys got down on their knees and let her clip their leashes on.

It was a meetup—for people, like Frau Schneider, who had packs. The goal was that of any social gathering, really—make new friends, exchange advice, allow the pets playtime.

Schneider couldn’t help but feel immense pride as her pack turned heads. The sheer number of pups she had was unusual, but the fact that they were all so very well behaved left many people impressed.

“They’re so big! Are they hard to control?” one pet owner had asked her, holding the leash of her own puppy, a young woman of about twenty.

“They’re all sweethearts, really,” she replied, smiling a little. “But when they get excited, it’s important to administer discipline.”

After the pack had all seemed to settle and adjust to their surroundings, Frau Schneider led them into the fenced off area with the other off-leash pets and went to socialize with the other doms.

The five pups looked around at the others. They didn’t seem terribly social.

“Hello,” Paul ventured, nodding at the nearest pet. “Who are you?”

He recoiled when the other pup hissed at him. Didn’t he speak?

“What’s the matter?” He squinted at him and leaned in.

It was becoming apparent, to both the boys and the Frau, that some people did things rather differently. For as strict as she was with them, Frau Schneider did allow the boys some semblance of humanity: she allowed communication.

“You let them _speak_ to you?”

Frau Schneider bristled indignantly, straightening up and narrowing her eyes. “Yes, I do. And why shouldn’t I?”

“There’s no need to be defensive. I just think that you wouldn’t have to discipline them so often if you didn’t let them think they’re your _equals_.”

She barked out a cold laugh. “Oh, that’s an interesting perspective. Fortunately, I don’t feel the need to overcompensate. I’m not _threatened_ by my pets’ intelligence.”

“Intelligence seems like a strong word. They’re _animals_.”

Suddenly, the other dog charged Paul, tackling him to the floor and lunging to bite at his throat.

“Get away from him!” Flake yelled, grabbing at its collar and trying to drag it away from Paul. But it had its teeth dug into his throat—it wasn’t going anywhere fast.

Chaos erupted in the pen instantly—Olli and Richard immediately jumped on the other dog and tried to drag him off Paul by any means, including biting him and clawing at his eyes. It looked as if Till wouldn’t be getting involved on Paul’s behalf this time, as he backed up to the opposite side of the pen.

“What are you _doing?_” Richard demanded, digging his nails into the aggressor’s face.

“Move!” Till barked, lowering his head.

Richard and Olli realized very quickly what his idea was, and dragged a still-struggling Flake away. The stranger dog had hardly any time to look up—all he saw was Till charging at him like a locomotive. With a loud **THWACK**, Till’s forehead connected solidly with the other dog’s jaw, and he released Paul so he could stagger backward. Olli grabbed him by the throat before he could even regain his senses, dragging him back into the vengeful fray.

Till grabbed Paul by the back of the pants, dragged him to the corner of the pen, made sure he wasn’t bleeding too badly, then charged back into the fight.

Frau Schneider squinted over at the pen. “What is going on over there—“

The other owner gasped. “That’s my dog! What are your stupid mutts _doing_—“

No longer listening, Frau Schneider strode over to the edge of the pen. “Everyone DOWN!”

The reaction was instantaneous. Their squabble disregarded, all of her boys sat back on their haunches and stared up at her. She glanced down at the other dog, who appeared to be in a very sorry state. “What happened?”

“He bit Paul!” Richard explained, voice still coming out angry and excitable.

Frau Schneider let herself into the pen, and even dogs that were not hers heeled as she passed. She crouched down in front of Paul to check on him and examine his throat. Shaking her head, she stood up, looking at the way her pups had automatically gathered at her feet.

“Alright. He’ll be okay. Let’s go home. We’ll get some ice on it.”

The other dominatrix watched, almost awed, as none of Frau Schneider’s charges gave her dog another thought, instead lining up obediently to be clipped to their leash. She led them out of the venue without much fanfare, though, just like when she’d entered, quite a few eyes were on her.

And that was just the way she liked it.


	22. Day 22: Haunting

Anniversaries were hard. This particular anniversary was the hardest. The boys generally didn’t tend to commemorate happy events, but this one was by far the worst.

They spent most of the day drinking. Till started as soon as he woke up, swallowing glass after glass of vodka. Paul always either got drunk or was nowhere to be found. Schneider smoked an entire pack and was far more irritable than normal. Richard railed cocaine—or relied on other stimulants to combat his depression—and Oliver got self-destructive. He blamed himself. They all blamed themselves, really.

There was a juvenile part of all of them that had believed the bomb wouldn’t go off, or Flake wouldn’t detonate it—or they’d be given what they wanted, and the bank wouldn’t _have_ to be destroyed.

Flake didn’t care whether he died, and so he pushed the button.

“You have to drink something that isn’t alcohol,” Schneider told Paul sternly, puffing on his third cigarette of the day. It wasn’t even 10 am yet.

“Tell Till that,” Paul snapped. “And leave me the fuck alone.”

“I’m going to, but I need you to not die of alcohol poisoning. Just because Flake is gone—“

“Shut up!”

Normally, he would have rolled his eyes, but Schneider frowned instead this time. He micromanaged so he wouldn’t have to deal with thinking about what had happened. “….fine.” He sat down at the kitchen table beside Paul with his bowl of cereal and opened his book to read.

Till lumbered, limping, into the kitchen, with a bottle of vodka clutched in one large fist. He hadn’t gelled up his mohawk yet, and a few strands of hair hung in front of his face.

“Morning.”

“And how are you doing?” Oliver offered.

“How do you fucking think?”

“Just asking.”

Till hunkered down at the couch in the living room and nestled the bottle between his thighs, flipping on the television.

Suddenly, the vodka bottle wrested itself from between his legs and went flying, shattering on the floor. “What the fuck—“

A couple of the boys jumped and turned around.

“What happened?”

“Till threw the bottle—“

“I didn’t touch the bottle.” Till huffed. “It flew out of my hands!”

Olli ducked when Schneider’s cereal bowl went flying across the room and crashed into the wall, spilling milk and Lucky Charms everywhere. “Fuck!”

They all stared at one another, thinking the same thing.

_“This is what you all do on the day I killed myself? You **drink**?”_

All the color drained from Paul’s face. “…oh my god.”

“…Flake?” Till ventured quietly. “Is that you?”

_“Who the fuck do you think it is?”_

The space on the couch beside Till sank, and suddenly, Flake was visible. Scratched up, yes, but he was there. The other boys, awed, gathered around, stepping over the broken glass.

Till hadn’t allowed himself to get emotional at Flake’s funeral—that was planned, and that was business. It was expected. There was no room for feelings.

But this—this was different. Here he was, his love, risen from the dead and sitting on his couch. Till stared at Flake intently for a moment, then, to everyone’s surprise…blinked away tears.

“Oh, don’t do that. Come on,” Flake chided quietly, reaching over to wipe his tears and cup his face. The physical touch wasn’t there, but Till appreciated the gesture.

“What are you doing here?” Richard asked. “You’re…”

“Dead? Yes, I am.” Flake cocked his head. “Did you know I died on Halloween? Interesting thing about that. The veil between the worlds of the living and the dead gets thinner.”

“So…it’s just for today?”

“I’m afraid so. I’ve been here the whole time, really. We just couldn’t communicate.” Flake scooted closer to Till and peered up at him. He’d seen everything—the stifled, momentary cries he allowed himself, the binge-drinking, the self-harm.

“I want this to stop,” he told them all seriously, gesturing to the spilled vodka. “Or I’ll start throwing dishes again.”

“You really can’t stay?” Till asked, turning to face him fully. “Please…I miss you.”

“I’ll stay for as long as I can.” Flake stroked Till’s cheek lightly, then scolded “You haven’t shaved.”

“Oh.” Till ran a self-conscious hand over his chin. His stubble was coming in again. “I didn’t notice.”

“No. That’s why I’m here. I suppose I’ll need to start writing you messages on the bathroom mirror like in a bad scary movie.” Flake glanced around at the others. Schneider’s eyebrows were knit together and he was looking away, and Paul was just staring. Actually, all of them were staring.

“Since you’re here…” Paul murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can…we do things the way they were? Just….why don’t we all play cards? Just the way we used to. Please?”

And so, they did. The six of them played poker, had a few beers, sat around and talked—as if it was two years ago, when Flake was still alive. It was so easy to forget that he wasn’t—to fall back into these old habits with him was almost too easy. Even Schneider warmed up, and soon they were all laughing. Their family had been rebuilt.

Flake had fallen asleep in Till’s bed, curled up against his chest. Till had stroked his hair tenderly—or, as well as he could, eyes fixed on him, in complete disbelief that he was back.

Eyes hooded with sleepiness, a lazy smile stretched across Till’s face. “I don’t remember if I ever told you. Because it’s been two years, but…you know I really do love you, yes?”

Flake blinked up at him. “…yes. Of course I know that. I love you too.”

Till slept like a bear in hibernation, then woke up to a cold, empty bed. Grief settled in the center of his chest, heavy like lead, and he scrubbed at his already-watery eyes as he dragged himself out of bed.

The bathroom was still steamy from Schneider’s prompt 6 am shower, and as Till squeezed toothpaste onto his toothbrush and stuck it in his mouth, he caught a glimpse of the mirror.

** _SHAVE YOUR FACE, YOU LAZY BASTARD._ **

Till stared at it for a few moments, jaw going slack.

It was very difficult to forge that block-print handwriting.

Slowly, Till pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth, and picked up the can of shaving cream.

And then he smiled. “I love you too.”


	23. Day 23: Vibration

** _RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR._ **

There was that sound again—that sound meant trouble. It meant humans, and humans did nothing but destroy. That sound meant, ‘time to take cover.’

It was easy to discover the source of the sound that caused all the water to unsettle—a boat. Not a huge one. But boats still carried people and sometimes they also carried fishing nets or poisons.

“I’ve heard stories about this place,” Richard murmured, dipping his fingers in the water.

“Oh, what? Don’t tell me you believe all that supernatural stuff,” Paul teased. “That’s all those are—_stories_. We’re looking for fish.”

Till’s eyes followed the fingers slowly. Definitely human.

Paul looked down as a human head broke the surface of the water. “Hey! You ought to look out. We could have hit you.”

“Don’t worry. Your boat was hard to miss.”

“Do you want a beer?”

“Paul!” Richard hissed. “Don’t talk to weird sea people. Where did he even come from?”

“I was swimming,” Till replied, easily pulling himself up and resting his arms on the side of the boat, treading water languidly with his lower half. He rested his cheek against one bicep, studying the two of them closely. “What are you up to?”

“We’re fishing. Isn’t it a nice day? Not terribly hot, and the breeze is nice—“

Paul jabbered on, but Richard was becoming steadily more unsettled. There was something about this stranger that didn’t seem exactly human. All the physical features were there, but….the _eyes_. That was it. He didn’t appear to be blinking, and his large eyes were the exact color of the living sea: a perfect blend of rich cerulean and the same deep green of algae.

“What’s the matter?”

Richard swallowed a little and blinked. “Huh?”

“You are staring at me.” Till cocked his head to the side.

“Uh—no, I wasn’t. Sorry.”

“You said you’ve heard stories about this place, right? What have you heard?”

“You heard that?” Suddenly, he was embarrassed. He had probably been gossiping about this man’s hometown.

Paul grinned. “There are supposed to be fish people that live in this water. Like mermaids, but much meaner. You haven’t seen any, have you?”

Till fixed his eyes on them for an agonizingly long moment—and then he smiled, revealing a mouth filled to the brim with razor-sharp, shark-like teeth.

“No. I haven’t.”

Paul swallowed, beginning to slowly back up. “I….oh, god.”

Till hauled himself into the boat effortlessly, and there they could see all of him. His thick neck, slit deeply on both sides with a pair of gills, throbbed with the jarring transition to open air. On large hands and larger feet, his fingers and toes were webbed like a duck’s, and his skin glinted, blue-green and almost _scaly_ in the sunlight.

Richard’s throat was suddenly very dry, and he gripped the railing behind him. “I told you!”

Still smiling, Till began to approach them slowly, the small fins on his elbows and back twitching with anticipation. “You know, we are perfectly nice to humans without boats. But it’s always you, trying to fish our waters. Why is that?”

“We—we fish for game, we eat everything we catch,” Paul stammered, backing into the railing as well and pressing against Richard.

“But now_ I _have nothing to eat. What will I do about that?” He backed them both into the railing, smirked darkly, then grabbed them both by the shirt collars and dragged them down, down into the sea.

Richard screamed, but the sound was stifled by the water—burning his eyes and invading his nose. Till grabbed him around the throat and bit down hard on his shoulder to make sure he wouldn’t go anywhere, and the water around them darkened with Richard’s blood.

Paul was luckier. He twisted wildly, holding his breath and throwing nearly hysterical punches and kicks at Till, though with the water holding him back, they didn’t land terribly hard. Finally, he managed to connect an elbow with one set of Till’s gills, and that jolt was enough for him to be released.

Forcing his head past the surface of the water, Paul gasped for air, then began to struggle toward land. He dug his fingers into the dirt and dragged himself up on the shore, before taking off at a sprint. His mind raced; adrenaline carried his legs as fast as they would go.

Paul began to weave through the forest, only trying to get as far away from the water as he possibly could. The trees seemed to grow closer and closer together until finally, a raised root tripped him. With a grunt, he stumbled, rolling headfirst into the brush, before finally coming to rest on his stomach. “Ow…”

“What are you doing here?”

Paul screamed and scrambled backward, eyes widened with terror when he saw a tree _looking at him._

He swallowed. “I…..uh….”

The tree was suddenly a very tall and slender man—or something that resembled a man—with pointed ears and eyes the color of twilight. He didn’t seem to blink, either.

“You’re all wet.” Oliver cocked his head. _Till_. “What happened?”

“He, Uh…” Paul swallowed dryly, pointing toward the water with a trembling hand. “He got my friend.”

“Alright,” Oliver said simply, turning on his heel and striding down toward the water. Paul stared for a moment, then scrambled up behind him as he ventured to the water’s edge. “Till!”

There was a long pause, then a few large bubbles gargled to the surface. Till followed them, breaching the surface with some of Richard’s flesh still caught in his teeth. “What?”

“You missed this one. I don’t eat meat.” Oliver kicked Paul into the sea with a well-placed foot to the back, and the unforgiving surf swallowed his scream of protest.

When Richard and Paul arose again, things were different. They’d taken shelter in the forest to protect them from the sun’s brightness. Till looked less human—his fingers tapered to sharpened points, his skin glinted even in the low light, fins had developed over his gills and behind each cheekbone. He’d been out of the water too long.

“I don’t know why you want to keep them,” Olli murmured, studying the two of them as if he were watching a science experiment. “They’re going to be an awful lot of trouble.”

“They’re almost finished,” Till assured him, grabbing Richard by the throat and dragging him over his lap. To Paul’s horror, sticking out of his friend’s spine were five long, needle-like bones—he had begun to grow a dorsal fin.

Paul gasped, hands flying to his throat. He stuck his fingers in the shallow slits there, heart nearly beating out of his chest. Gills. He’d started to grow gills.

“Oh god—what did you do to us?!”

“No god presides here,” Olli told him, watching idly as ivy grew around his spindly fingers. “It’s only us. And now it’s you, too.”

“I need to get out of here,” Richard breathed, looking around wildly in a vain search for escape.

Till grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up, flashing a dangerous, saw-toothed smile at him. “Why don’t you understand? You aren’t going anywhere.”

“So relax and go for a swim,” Olli added. And although he seemed nonviolent, and although he didn’t eat meat, Paul could swear he saw the same dagger-like teeth making a home in Olli’s mouth as well.


	24. Day 24: Sleep Deprivation

Richard had been staring at the wall for the better part of twenty minutes, and by Paul’s judgement, he had blinked maybe twice.

“What are you looking at?”

“Uhhhh,” he mumbled, then trailed off. And continued staring at the wall.

It had been nearly 60 hours. They’d only been able to close their eyes for a few seconds at a time, and things were starting to get……weird.

Paul shrieked suddenly and jerked to his feet, nearly losing his balance as he staggered into the wall. “GET AWAY!!”

Flake struggled to blink up at him. “What?”

“Flake! Get up!” Paul leapt onto a chair and scrambled backward, nearly falling off it immediately. “FLAKE! GET _UP!”_

“Quiet!” Till barked irritably, slapping his hands over his ears.

“What? What?” Flake sat up, sunken blue eyes wide and wild. “What’s wrong?”

“SPIDERS!”

“He’s hallucinating,” Olli moaned, pulling his blankets over his head.

“I’m not hallucinating!” Paul snapped, balancing rather precariously on his chair and gripping the back of it. “There are spiders everywhere! You guys just don’t see them because you’re too sleepy!”

Richard grunted and covered his face, fed up with Paul’s hysterical ranting. “There are no spiders!”

“YES THERE ARE!” Paul scratched at his collar and finally fell over the back of the chair, kicking and writhing desperately.

Till, now sitting up, was staring fixedly at the floor. When did they get carpeting? And why was everything moving?

Oliver, who’d noticed that Till’s eyes were wide as saucers, blinked and scooted closer to him. “Till? Are you okay?”

“This carpet is nice. It’s very kinetic,” Till announced, gently stroking the bare cement floor.

“…ah. Okay.” Olli glanced over at Richard next, who still hadn’t really blinked. “….are you still alive, Richard?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, voice coming out slurred, as if his mouth was full of peanut butter. “How can you tell that?”

“I think you’re alive.” Olli was doing the best out of any of them, really. It took a tremendous effort to keep himself grounded, but he was managing, even though he was having serious mood swings. Because he was the only one lucid enough, he’d taken it upon himself to be the pack’s advocate.

Paul was having manic, vivid hallucinations, Flake was restless and his arms were all marked up from where he’d been scratching imaginary itches, Till was just on another plane entirely, and Richard was barely coherent at all. They traded off, of course—Richard’s energy would jump back up suddenly and he’d be on his feet, or Paul would have a breakdown and begin weeping over nothing.

Now seemed as good a time as any to attempt another appeal.

“Frau Schneider,” Olli called pathetically, dragging himself up the basement steps on his hands and knees. “Please let us out. It’s been three days.”

“Have you all been good?”

“Yes, Nobody has slept at all since you disciplined us the first time. We’ve kept one another awake.”

“And why should I let you out now?”

“Because Paul is seeing things and I’m afraid he’s going to bash his head open on the floor.”

Frau Schneider paused for a moment. To Olli, it felt like forever, but he finally let out a relieved breath when he heard the 5-way leash coming off its hook. Thank god.

“Everyone get up. Get up!” Olli hurried down the stairs and darted around the room, dragging Richard up to his knees and snapping his fingers in front of Till so he’d pay attention. Paul, he grabbed under the arms and squeezed him, comforted him—and that was just enough to get him to relax.

Frau Schneider’s heels clicked down the steps slowly, and all five of them straightened at attention—they had to behave, be alert. They’d gotten this punishment in the first place for napping when Frau Schneider had asked them to clean up—it would be imprudent to make the same mistake now.

She stopped before them, peering down at their faces. Olli was the only one who wasn’t too drained to make eye contact.

“Have we learned our lesson?”

“Yes, Frau Schneider.” The affirmative didn’t come with the usual enthusiasm: Till sounded almost too excited, and Flake yawned it. But that proved her point: the punishment had hit home. One by one, she clipped them to the leash, and walked them up the stairs.

Due to the difficulty maneuvering the first flight of stairs, (Paul had nearly fallen twice, and Richard had to lean against the wall for support) Frau Schneider decided to lead them all the way up to the bedroom, and didn’t unclip them until they were all gathered in the large bedroom.

“Rest. I will see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” Till murmured, pressing his cheek to her leg. Independently and one by one, they all lined up to say goodnight to her, and she patted each one of them on the head, leaning one arm against the door jamb, she watched, amused, as all five of them fell asleep.

Oliver was unconscious before his head even hit his pillow.


	25. Day 25: Religion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on the movie Midsommar.

“What is this place?”

Everything in this area began to blend together after a while, especially since, to outsiders, it seemed to be one long expanse of meadow. But even these outsiders knew people when they saw them. The Sound-of-Music-esque landscape suddenly contained a smattering of humans—all dressed head-to-toe in white, wandering around.

Richard glanced around, curious but a little wary. With his dyed, gelled hair and painted nails, he didn’t generally vibe with these sorts of people. They considered him materialist, and he considered them uppity.

Though, as the natives looked upon his little group, there was not a single sneer or look of disdain among them. They seemed only interested in the newcomers, and as more and more of them caught on, they began to approach.

“Hello,” a tall man with piercing blue eyes and rich, wavy brown hair greeted them. “Welcome.”

“Hi!” Paul chirped, peering up at him. “We’re just passing through. Don’t mean to intrude.”

“Don’t be silly. All are welcome here. Would you like to see our village?”

“Of course,” Paul agreed excitedly, before Flake could protest or Richard could politely deflect. The two already felt out of place amid all these strangely peaceful people.

The three of them trooped through the grass in a single-file line behind Schneider, and Paul kept close at his heels and chatted with him.

“You and your friends have come at an opportune time,” Schneider explained in a regional accent they couldn’t quite place. “It is our Midsummer festival.”

“That sounds fun,” Paul replied, practically bouncing. “What’s that like?”

“It’s very important to the people in my village. Midsummer is the most important celebration we have.”

“Is that why all these people are dressed up?”

“Yes. We make our own clothing for the celebration.” As they began to come upon houses and enter the little commune, Schneider waved at a man tediously weaving a basket by hand. “Till!”

“Who’s that?” Richard finally murmured, glancing at the tall, broad-shouldered man rising from among the wildflowers. He was wearing a vibrant, woven crown of flowers, from under which a thick fringe of dark hair peeked.

Tickled, Paul grinned. “What’s he wearing?”

“Till is our basket weaver and craftsman. Well, one of them. He makes flower wreaths for the women to wear on their heads. He likes to wear them as well.”

After gathering his flower crowns in his hand-made basket, Till tucked it under his arm and strode over to them. “Uh, hello.”

“Till, these are new friends. They’ll be staying with us for the Midsummer festival.”

“We’re passing through,” Flake interjected. “You certainly don’t have to host us.”

“Nonsense, you will stay with us.” He nodded definitively, as if it was decided, then hitched his basket up on his hip. “We will be eating soon.”

The three of them watched curiously, guests at an informal feast, as Schneider and his “brothers” interacted. After only minimal objection, Schneider finally allowed Till to braid a few branches of bright yellow flowers into his hair. They contrasted beautifully with his striking blue eyes, and framed his feline face like a halo.

“Midsummer is the celebration of the summer solstice,” Oliver explained, focusing on Flake, who seemed more occupied with the technicalities. “Our community worships the sun, and the forces of nature.”

Well, a little hokey, perhaps, but there were more dangerous religious movements for sure.

“Are you sure we aren’t intruding?”

“Oh, no,” Olli assured him. “We invite anyone who would like to, to join us. All we ask is that you be respectful of our beliefs.”

“Of course. You don’t have to worry about that.”

The celebration began at dusk; food gave way to celebration and dancing. Tremendous bonfires were ignited, and the girls, dressed in white linens and flowers, danced around them in large concentric circles. Seemingly endowed with endless amounts of energy, the inhabitants of the village were in a state of constant motion, never tiring. The sky never darkened, even during the night hours. The most significant change was that the sunlight simply became less bright. And then, in the wee hours of the morning, a number of men and women began hauling wood in to feed the bonfires again.

"I see why you worship the sun," Paul murmured, squinting up at the sky, the corners of his eyes crinkling happily. "It's so bright here."

"This is the best part of the celebration," Schneider informed him. 

"What happens?" Richard asked, leaning in to Schneider's other side. 

"Do you see those people, in the yellow frocks? They are the sun's children. We will honor them and their sacrifice."

None of them asked what "sacrifice" referred to, because they did not want to pry into the intricate details of their religious practices. An older couple traveled among the spectators, passing out small cups filled with some sort of tea. "Here, welcome."

Surprised, each of the newcomers accepted the beverage, before glancing at Schneider. "What is this?"

"Drink it," he simply said, sipping from his own cup. 

The tea was lovely; it was light and fruity, and even seemed to raise their spirits. Richard was finally able to relax, and even Flake found himself dancing along to the drum-and-flute music. Paul watched, transfixed, as Till and Ollie fetched massive cloaks, woven purely from flowers and some pliable wood--perhaps willow. Each of them took two people to carry because of their weight and size, but Till beamed with pride as he watched his handiwork be draped around the sun's children. 

The bonfires were massive now, blazing wildly as the drum beats began to pick up. The villagers all moved together in a frenzy, more and more joining the dancing young women. The few golden robes glittered in the sunlight, and the fire electrified the flower crowns on all those many heads. The scene looked like an oil painting. 

The drums reached a throbbing crescendo, then suddenly stopped. Every person instantly stopped moving, and one by one, the circles around the fire parted to clear a path. Those in the golden robes, in perfect unison, began their slow walk to the fire. Schneider raised his hands to the sky, as did many of the others, and the drums started up yet again--a slow rumble, at first, but then they built up, louder and faster with each step. There was a short pause when each of them reached the fire, squinting against the heat and the brightness, and the entire world stood still in that moment. The drums stalled, the wind stalled, a breath was caught in every throat. 

And then, finally, the sacrifice had reached its climax. Each of the five adults, outfitted with golden robes and the flower cloaks that had taken Till and the other craftsmen weeks to make, threw themselves into the fire. The plant matter began to burn instantly, and there was no time to react. The flames had swallowed the bodies whole. 

Paul screamed, but it was drowned out by the ecstatic shrieks of the commune--the sacrifice had been a success! 

"We're getting out of here!" Flake announced, grabbing a still-stunned Richard by the bicep and beginning to drag him in the opposite direction. "Come on!"

Richard gawked, eyes still fixed on the fires as Flake led him away. That couldn't have been real, _could it? _

Paul woke up on his back on a wooden floor. His head swam and his throat ached. He could barely remember anything that had happened, but the image of flowers and flames stuck out in his mind. "Where am I?"

"You're home," Oliver told him, cupping a hand behind his neck and helping him to sit up. When Paul looked down at his legs, he noticed that he was dressed in white linen, like everyone else. 

"Where are my friends?" 

"They did not respect our traditions." Olli helped Paul to his feet, not expanding on his intentionally vague answer. "You will stay here until they return."

That was not a question, but Olli's previous answer had left a cold, clammy feeling in his gut. 

"Are you sure you don't know where they are?" he pressed weakly, still feeling woozy. 

Instead of answering, Olli looked at Paul for a long time. Then, he simply murmured "Come. We have work to do."


	26. Day 26: Amputation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. Sorry, I know it's been six months, and I was even considering abandoning this work. But I got in the mood to write horror again, and I figured I may as well finish what I started. Better late than never, right?

Richard's eyes fluttered open, his vision fuzzy as he struggled to focus. He was on his back, the only light in the room swinging dizzily back and forth--it was a lightbulb on a chain. Otherwise, it was dark and hard to see anything at all. 

Suddenly, he realized he was in pain--a lot of pain, actually, a ridiculous fucking amount of pain, and he grit his teeth--only to realize there was also a rag crammed in his mouth. His left leg was throbbing, it was even worse than that time he'd broken his ankle falling down the stairs. The pain was making him nauseous, and his mind still felt frustratingly muddled. What the hell had even happened?

"There he is," a familiar voice cooed, and Richard flinched and squinted against the light when a hand touched his face. "Shhh, it's alright, _Liebchen._ Does it still hurt?"

"Uhuh," he managed to mumble, eyes rolling lamely around in their sockets as he struggled to cling to consciousness. The gag was removed from between his teeth, and then he was being poked and prodded. "Uh-"

Frau Schneider gently patted Richard's thigh, then leaned down to examine his leg. The bleeding looked as if it had slowed, which was a good thing. But she would have to change his bandages before the end of the night. Of course, he would be sleeping in her bed tonight so that she could keep an eye on him, and fetch him anything if he was in pain during the night. When he began to mumble incoherently, she scooted back up toward his head so that he could see her properly, then gently dropped a hand to stroke his hair. "Are you thirsty?"

Now that she mentioned it, his throat was very dry. He hazarded a faint nod, and then felt a hand slide under his neck. She was going to help him sit up and drink. "The anesthesia can dehydrate," Frau explained quietly, and he just nodded placidly, too groggy to ask why anesthesia had even been necessary. As he was brought to a sitting position, his head throbbed defiantly, a new and unwelcome instrument in this unpleasant symphony. 

"It's alright," she assured him, lifting a plastic cup to his lips. "Take little sips. It's over now. You're alright."

"What's over?" he asked, voice hoarse and strained. But the water was soothing. It helped. 

"Your operation."

"My what?" Richard squinted at her, unable to hide his confusion. As his vision started to refocus, he desperately tried to absorb his surroundings. Frau Schneider's golden curls and that floral dress he liked were illuminated by the swinging light, which had started to slow down. Something must have upset it. He glanced from her downward, seeing his own feet, his legs--

He stopped. His eyebrows knit in confusion. That wasn't right. His legs. Something was wrong with his legs. But there was a lag--he was seeing what he was seeing, but his brain was still too foggy from the procedure to actually process anything. 

"What's wrong, love?" Schneider murmured, stroking his cheek and lifting the cup to his lips again. 

"My legs?" he asked, turning to her with utterly puppyish confusion--pleading for her help.

"Leg," she corrected him gently. They both glanced down at his legs: his whole right leg, and what remained of the left. 

"My...leg..." Richard's lower lip poked out in a truly heartbreaking little pout. "What happened to it?"

"You had an infection, little one," Frau Schneider whispered, gingerly cupping his cheeks and frowning with him. "You had a fever for days. It was all we could do."

Richard didn't remember any infection, or even being ill, but he supposed that didn't matter now. Frau Schneider wouldn't lie to him. If she thought his leg had to be taken off, then he believed her, no questions asked. "...oh. Okay."

"We will get you into bed, nice and cozy. Till is going to take you upstairs. Till?"

He'd been waiting at the top of the stairs obediently, at Frau Schneider's beck and call. He had a very important job. "Yes?"

"Please take Richard to my room. The door is unlocked." Ignoring Till's stunned expression, she continued sharply, "And don't linger. Drop him off and come right back." 

"Wait--wait!" Richard cried, clinging to Frau Schneider's dress. "Wait--" 

"Shhh," she crooned again, stroking his hair down and cupping his chin as soothingly as she could. "Everything will be okay. I will be up very soon, I just need to make sure everything down here is taken care of." She leaned down and pressed a kiss tenderly to the center of Richard's forehead, then squeezed one of his hands. "I will be up soon with painkillers and water, and toast. And then I will take care of you until you are feeling better.” She searched his face. “Are you alright?”

”It hurts,” he whispered, eyes shining with tears. And he still couldn’t believe he was missing his _leg_—

“I know, little one,” Schneider reassured him softly. She snapped her fingers. “Till, come.”

Till trooped ever-faithfully down the stairs, eyes wide and expectant. “Yes, Frau Schneider?”

”Be a good boy and take Richard up.” 

”Yes, Frau Schneider.” Till nodded and walked over to Richard, then squatted down before him and wrapped an arm around him, scooping under His leg(s?) with the other. “Hold on to me.”

Richard nodded numbly, wrapping his arms around Till’s neck. “Please don’t drop me,” he whispered.

”I will be very careful,” Till assured him, pushing up from his squat with apparent ease and adjusting Richard in his arms. “Don’t be afraid.”

Frau Schneider watched the boys ascend the stairs, then began to gather things on a tray for her poor little injured pup. Smiling to herself, she thought that perhaps she would put him in a cone to ensure that he wouldn’t get at the stitches. But that was something she could do when he was feeling more like himself. After a few days in bed, being doted on and spoiled, he would hardly even miss the leg at all. 


	27. Day 27: Hypothermia

Flake watched, wrought with unease, as Frau Schneider thumbed through her latest mystery novel. She perched in her armchair, legs folded primly, a steaming cup of tea in one hand. Outside it was bitterly cold, but here, with blankets and tea to spare, and a fireplace as well as central heating...well, it was positively lovely. Flake had been given "good boy" status, so he was permitted to curl up on the sofa underneath one of the fluffiest blankets Frau Schneider had.

Quiet in this household was never a good thing, though. Winter days brought with them less rowdiness, but there was still activity due to the myriad ways the other pups found to entertain themselves. There were still scuffles over toys and the occasional fight or squabble, but the days were shorter and the weather was inclement, which led to lots of naps and even hot cocoa when the boys were good. But _this? _This fell firmly into the category of "too quiet." A handful of the boys were upstairs, and here Flake was, with Frau Schneider, but...

Flake's ears pricked up. There was scratching, faint but detectable, against the back door. He glanced over, then back at Frau Schneider expectantly, but she didn't look up. The scratching continued, this time louder and more distinct, and he frowned. "Uh--"

"I hear it," she told him simply, flipping another page. She did not seem to be in the mood to be bothered, but Flake's curiosity was overwhelming him. He resigned himself to curl up underneath his blanket, and eventually the scratching died off. 

But then it picked up again, less desperate and more lethargic. Flake picked his head up, glanced over at Frau Schneider, and climbed off the couch, this time utterly overcome with curiosity. "I'm going to see what that is."

"You do that."

Flake padded his way to the back door, and even before he saw the source of the scratching, he was shocked at the amount of snow outside. It had to have been more than a foot by now! "Whoa..."

"Come away from the window, Flake," Frau Schneider called, looking up from her book. "Now." 

Flake stalled, glancing back at her and then out the window again. "I am, I just--"

"Now, Flake!" 

And then he saw it. And after he saw it, he couldn't possibly have torn his eyes away from the window, even if Frau Schneider had commanded him to a hundred times over. He froze, mouth open in a horrified pre-scream. Frau Schneider stormed over to reprimand him, but paused when she saw it too.

There was a hand, bright red and purpling around the fingertips, suspended on the surface of the snow. 

"Frau Schneider, is....is someone out there?" Flake whispered, glancing up at her. "Who is that?"

Frau Schneider cocked her head and studied the hand coldly, as if she were weighing her options. "Flake, be a good boy and run upstairs. Get me the big heavy blankets in your bedroom, a clean shirt, and some sweatpants and socks." 

Not thinking twice about what that meant, Flake took off at a run and tore up the stairs. He burst into the bedroom and stopped when three heads lifted: Till, Oliver, and Richard. "...blankets. I need blankets, and...and warm clothes. Where's Paul?"

Oliver silently balled up two comforters and handed them to Flake, while Richard rifled through Paul's clothes to gather some up. 

"Where is Paul?" Flake asked again, more forcefully this time. Oliver just shook his head and sat back down on the mattress, and Till stared balefully up at him. Flake narrowed his eyes dangerously and stared at Till, who looked away. "Till, where is he?"

"He got in trouble," Till murmured shyly. 

Oh, fuck.

Flake ran back downstairs, very nearly tripping over the dangling tail of one of the blankets. "Frau, I have the supplies! Frau Schneider--"

He stopped short. She was now in the kitchen, and Paul was on the floor, as pink and fragile as a newborn baby, and she was at the sink getting a bath of water warm, and she turned to him to see what was mostly a pile of fabric on legs, and said "Get him out of his clothes."

Flake dropped everything and slid on his knees over to Paul, who was shaking like a leaf. He tugged at the bottom of his shirt, struggling to pull it over his head. "Paul--Paul, are you alright?" 

Paul's teeth chattered in response. Frau Schneider glanced down at him. "He's still shivering. He's alright. When it stops, that's when it's bad." Flake stared up at her, horrified, and she snapped "What did I say? Change him!" 

She knelt down with them, setting the basin of steamy water on the ground, and began to pull Paul's pants off. "Hand me the dry ones."

Flake offered her the sweatpants as he pulled the soaked, freezing shirt off Paul and felt his skin. It was bright red, flushed and swollen, and cold to the touch. "Oh, god--it's okay, I got you--" Grabbing Paul under the arms, Flake hauled him up to rest against his thighs, and bunched up the shirt to pull the collar over his head. He'd actually never seen Frau Schneider _worry_ after a punishment she'd given, but she'd also never given any of them hypothermia before this. 

He worked Paul's arms through his sleeves, then swiftly wrapped him in a thick blanket and hugged him as hard as he could. He didn't have an awful lot of body heat to provide, but Paul needed it much more than he did. Frau Schneider gently rolled the legs of his sweatpants up and lifted each of his feet, setting them in the warm water gently. "Oh, that's a good boy. You're alright." 

Paul's eyes fluttered open as Frau Schneider reached over to stroke his still-red cheek. "Frau Schneider?"

"Yes, little one. I'm right here." 

"I'm sorry for disobeying you," he whispered, a harsh chill running down his spine. He nestled back into Flake's chest. He was starting to warm up, little by little, but his swollen fingers itched and he was sweating something horrible, as if breaking a fever. "I'm s-sorry."

"Oh, _Liebchen_," she tutted, stroking his still-wet still-cold hair. She glanced up at Flake, who, for the first time since he'd come into her possession, glared icily at her. "...as long as you've learned your lesson." 

"Y-you aren't ups-set?"

"No, little one." Another glance at Flake. She sighed quietly. "And I'm...sorry. Perhaps I was a bit overzealous with my punishment."

"I s-still won't do it again."

"That's a good boy," Frau Schneider whispered, stroking his cheek. "A very, very good boy."

**Author's Note:**

> First 24 installments posted to till-hammer.tumblr.com.


End file.
